Gray remained silent for a moment, then he turned his face to Harding.
"I have got to tell you—"
"I won't hear, lad. You've said a lot in your fever, and I won't hear any more just now. I can see how it's all happened."
Watch was lying at his master's feet, and here he looked up with a short bark and a delighted wag of his tail. Harding pulled his ears. "I don't know how Watch managed to live through it all; but he did—old faithful fellow!" And then Harding's face turned scarlet.
He would have got up to move away, but Gray held his hand fast.
"The dog was faithful," he said in a low tone, "while I— No; you must let me speak, Harding."
"Not now, my lad; you are not fit for it."
"I got your letter."
Gray said the words firmly, almost roughly; then his voice faltered, and he went brokenly on:
"God has been merciful to me, a sinner. He sought me wandering, set me right; He showed me what I'd done when—when I thought it was too late." He stopped a moment, then his voice strengthened itself. "I had made up my mind to confess everything if ever I got back. I little thought I should be able to confess it to you. Do you understand me, Harding? I got that letter."