"Yes. I ought to beg your pardon," and he looked up. Stafford was pale
as death, and trembling.

"When?"

"A few days ago."

"On your oath--no, you don't believe that--on your honor, is it truth?"

"Yes, it is."

"You saw it--just as it is there?"

"Yes, it is exact. I had no right to take it or to show it you."

"What does that matter, man? Do you think I care about that? But--yes,
it is true. God help me!"

"We have seen it, you know. It was time you saw it."

"Time, indeed!"

"Where's the harm?" asked Morewood, in a rough effort at comfort.

"The harm? But you don't understand. It is the face of a beast!"

"My dear fellow, that's stuff! It's only the face of a lover."

Stafford looked at him in a dazed way.