Ned looked across at Sylvia Armytage. "You have been the means of
bringing me to such happiness as I should never have reached without
these happenings," he said. "What resentment can I bear you, O'Moy?
Besides, I understand, and who understands can never do anything but
forgive. I realise how sorely you have been tried. No evidence
more conclusive that you were being wronged could have been placed
before you."

"But the court-martial," said O'Moy in horror. He covered his
face with his hand. "Oh, my God! I am dishonoured. I - I -" He
rose, shaking off the arm of his wife and the hand of the friend he
had wronged so terribly. He broke away from them and strode to the
window, his face set and white. "I think I was mad;" he said. "I
know I was mad. But to have done what I did - " He shuddered in
very horror of himself now that he was bereft of the support of
that evil jealousy that had fortified him against conscience itself
and the very voice of honour. Lady O'Moy turned to them, pleading
for explanation.

"What does he mean? What has he done?"

Himself he answered her: "I killed Samoval. It was I who fought
that duel. And then believing what I did, I fastened the guilt
upon Ned, and went the lengths of perjury in my blind effort to
avenge myself. That is what I have done. Tell me, one of you, of
your charity, what is there left for me to do?"

"Oh!" It was an outcry of horror and indignation from Una,
instantly repressed by the tightening grip of Sylvia's hand upon