Stratton groaned.
“Forgive me,” he said feebly; “I was half-mad.”
“Yes.”
“How could I, crushed by the horror of having taken a fellow-creature’s life, cursed by the knowledge that this man was—But you cannot know that.”
“Take it, boy, that I know everything,” said the old man, resuming his seat.
“Then have some pity on me.”
“Pity for your folly? Yes.”
“Folly! You are right. I will take it that you know everything, and speak out now. Brettison—”
He paused—he could not speak. But by a mighty effort he mastered his emotion.
“Now think, and find some excuse for me. I was in my room there, elate almost beyond a man’s power to imagine; in another hour the woman whom I had idolised for years was to be my wife. Recollect that, two years before, my hopes had been dashed to the ground, and I had passed through a time of anguish that almost unhinged my brain, so great was my despair.”