Presently the deep, regular breathing of my brother announced to me the termination of my vigil. With my heart beating in a suffocating manner, I stole to the door, opened it and stood outside that of Modred’s room. I listened a moment. A humming noise of garrulous voices below was the only sound that broke the silence of the house. Softly I turned the handle and softly crept into the room. There was light in it, for on the wash-hand stand a rush candle burned dimly in an old lanthorn. He gave a start, for he was lying awake in his bed, then half-rose on his elbow and looked at me with frightened eyes. “Don’t come near,” he whispered. “What do you want? You aren’t going to try to kill me again?” I gave a little strangled, agonized cry, and, dropping on my knees where I stood, stretched out my arms to him imploringly. “Oh, Modred, don’t! Don’t! You can’t think I meant it! It was only a horrible impulse. I was mad, and I nearly drowned myself directly afterward in saving you.” The fright went from his face and something like its familiar look returned to it. “Are you sorry?” he said. “Sorry? Oh, I will do anything you like if you will only believe me.” “Come here, Renny,” he said, “and stand by me. I want to see you better.” I obeyed humbly--lovingly. “You want me to forgive you?” “If you could, Modred--if you only could.” “And not to peach?” I hung my head in shame and the tears were in my eyes again. “Well, I’ll agree, on one condition.” “Make any you like, Modred. I’ll swear to keep it; I’ll never forget it.” “Zyp’s it,” he said, looking away from me. “Yes,” I said, gently, with a prescience of what was coming. “You’ll have to give her up for good and all--keep out of her way; let her know somehow you’re sick of her. And keep Jason out of the way. You and he were chums enough before she came.” “I swear for myself, and to do what I can with Jason,” I said, dully. What did it matter? One way or another the buoyant light of existence was shut to me for good and all. “It’s the only way,” said Modred, and he gave me a look that I dare not call crafty. “After all, it isn’t much,” he said, “considering what you did to me, and she seems to be getting tired of you--now, doesn’t she?” “Yes,” I said in a low voice. “Then, that’s settled. And now let me be, for I feel as if I can sleep. Hand me my breeches first, though. There’s something in the pocket I want.” “Shall I get it out for you, old boy?” “No, no!” he answered, hurriedly. “Give them to me, can’t you?” I did as he wanted and crept from the room. What did it matter? Zyp had already cast me off, but for the evil deed I was respited. A moment ago the girl had seemed as nothing, set in the scale against my brother’s forgiveness. Could it be the true, loving spirit of forgiveness that could make such a condition? Hush! I must not think that thought. What did it matter?