“Hah!”
Malcolm Stratton’s low cry. It was that of a man who had long battled with the waves of a great storm, and who had at last found something to which he could cling.
There was another long and painful pause before Stratton spoke again, and then he slowly withdrew his hand.
“No,” he said; “we must never clasp hands again. I must go on to the end a pariah among my kind.”
Brettison shook his head.
“I have put myself in your place often,” he said slowly, “and I have felt that I might have acted much the same.”
Stratton looked at him eagerly.
“Yes; my great fault in you is that you should not have trusted me.”
There was again a long silence before Stratton spoke.
“I felt that I was alone in the world to fight my own battle with all my strength,” he said wearily.