"This is to be done," he said, sitting up, with his handsome face tear-stained and his hair dishevelled, "you have won and I have lost. I surrender all claim to the hand of Miss Monk."
"You never had any claim," I reminded him sharply.
"Perhaps not," was his dejected reply, "but I am a man and I cannot help my feelings. Gertrude is the only woman I have ever loved, and the only woman I shall ever love. She is lost to me, because she loves you. Well, I daresay it is better that she should marry a gentleman. But I wish--I wish----" He broke down again.
"Striver," I said, for the third time, and placed my hand on his shoulder, "I am very sorry for you, although you have not acted well."
"All is fair in love and war," he said, sitting up again.
"There are some things a gentleman cannot do, even to win the woman he loves, Striver," I said gently, "so all is not fair in love and war."
"I am not a gentleman: I never pretended to be a gentleman."
"Then be one now," I urged, "you know the truth of this murder since you were in the house all the time. I believe myself that you are innocent."
"Why should you think that?" he asked in a curious voice and with a curious look.
"Because I believe you to be a good fellow, Striver. Your nature has been warped by the influence of this mad love and by the influence of your dead aunt. She always promised you Miss Monk as a bride and this fifty thousand pounds for yourself."