“No,” he responded, rising and pacing the room with his hand to his white brow, “it isn’t like me.” Then, turning quickly to me, he added with gravity which startled me, “Clifton, I think I’m mad!”
“Mad! Nonsense! my dear fellow!” I protested, placing my hand upon his shoulder. “Tell me what all this is about.”
“I’ve failed!” he cried in a voice of utter despair. “I’ve striven, and striven in my work, but all to no purpose. I’ve sown the wind, and the Devil has placed a bar between myself and the Master.”
“How?” I asked, failing to grasp his meaning.
“I have made a discovery,” he answered in a dry, harsh tone.
“A discovery!” I echoed.
“Yes, one so appalling, so terrible, so absolutely horrible, that I am crushed, hopeless, paralysed.”
“What is it?” I demanded quickly, excited by his strange wildness of manner.
“No,” he answered. “It is useless to explain. You could never believe that what I told you was the truth.”
“I know that you would not willingly tell a lie to your oldest friend, Jack,” I answered, with grave earnestness.