“Come, man; this is no time for reticence. Tell me all,” cried Guest excitedly; and he spoke in a hoarse whisper, and glanced to door and window, as if afraid of being overheard.
There was the same desponding movement.
“Am I not worthy of your confidence? I tell you I am ready to share it—ready to help you if you will only be honest with me, and tell me frankly everything.”
There was no reply.
“Stratton, old fellow,” cried Guest piteously, “you must speak. I do not believe that you could have been intentionally guilty.”
Stratton glanced at him quickly, but the eager look died out.
“I tell you that you are injuring me as well as yourself. You have blighted your life; for God’s sake don’t blight mine, too.”
“What—what do you mean?” cried Stratton, who started as if stung at his friend’s reference to his future, and when the appeal came, took a step or two forward.
“That, knowing what I do, compelled from our old associations to be silent, I cannot—dare not go near her again.”
“Guest!”