Dallas Bain saw that something was preying heavily on his mind, and one day he said coaxingly:
“You had better tell me all about that love affair, Dering, and maybe I can help you to fix it up better. Anyway, you know it is said that ‘a sorrow shared is half cured.’”
CHAPTER XXIV.
COALS OF FIRE.
Ray Dering was gazing moodily out at the October woods changing to red and gold beneath the autumn sky, and, with a violent start, he looked at his friend, exclaiming:
“Why do you say I have a love affair? It is not true! I hate all women for the sake of one who has been false to me.”
His pale, handsome face writhed with conflicting emotions, as he added:
“She has ruined my life and made me a remorseful sinner, this cruel little coquette that I loved so dearly.”
He leaned his face down on the window sill, and his form shook with emotion too strong for words.
Dallas Bain was not surprised, for in his month’s association with this man he had become convinced that a rooted sorrow, coupled with strange remorse, lay at the bottom of his heart.
Ray Dering had heavy, restless nights, and strange, wild dreams, in which he often talked aloud, so that Dallas had conceived suspicions that he would not have breathed aloud.