[CHAPTER X.]
THE GREAT SECRET.
It was small wonder that Neil had decided to give Ruth up. For the first time he saw what he was--a miserable creature, who, in marrying, would be committing a deadly sin. It was not to be thought of; and he thanked Heaven that he had self-command sufficient to put temptation away from him. His renunciation of her was, to him, the least of his sorrows.
He found some comfort in the visits of Geoffrey Heron, who came almost every day and sat long with the unfortunate man, although he could not in the least understand his sufferings. But he strove to talk of general subjects which would draw his mind away from the one on which he was brooding. And in the main he succeeded, though when he had gone, Neil always relapsed into the torture of thought whence he had been drawn for the moment.
During these visits Neil observed his visitor closely, and very soon came to the conclusion that he was a right good fellow with vastly more heart than the general mass of humanity. Once or twice he found himself on the point of confiding in him and asking his advice: but a feeling of dread withheld him. He liked Heron he enjoyed his company; and he was afraid of losing him. So he tried to put himself aside, and insisted that he was not as ill as he looked. But the crisis came one evening when Geoffrey was with him. Neil had been very ill all day; and when the young squire entered shortly after eight o'clock, he found him lying on the sofa almost in a fainting condition. Geoffrey was alarmed.
"I tell you what, old chap, you should see a doctor," he said.
Neil shook his head. "Doctors can do no good; all their drugs cannot cure me. What is it Macbeth says, 'Thou canst not minister to a mind diseased.'"
"But your mind is not diseased."
"How do you know that?" He clenched his hands. "I have not told you my secret."
"No and I don't want to know it."