hundred and forty pounds per annum. This was wealth for me, and more
than enough to satisfy all my wants. Since I had heard of this
legacy I had been doubtful as to my movements. My chance meeting
with Francis settled the matter. I resolved at once to leave
America, and to return to live in my native country. I knew your
address, and wrote to you at once. I trusted that the sight of my
old and only friend would console me for the disappointments that
life has inflicted on me--and I have not been deceived. At last I
have been able to open my heart to a fellow-creature, and relieve
myself of the heavy burden which I have borne alone ever since our
separation. Now I feel lighter. You are not a severe judge.
Doubtless you deplore my weakness, but you do not condemn me. If, as
I have already said, I have done no good, neither have I committed
any wicked action. I have been a nonentity--an utterly useless
being; 'one too many,' like the sad hero of Tourgueneff's sad story.
Before leaving, I wrote to Francis informing him that the death of a
relative obliged me to return to Europe, and giving him your
address, so as not to seem to be running away from him. Then I went
on board, and at last reached your home. Dixi!"

Warren, who during this long story had taken care to keep his pipe
alight, and had, moreover, nearly drained the bottle of port placed
before him, now declared himself ready to listen to his friend's
confession. But Hermann had been saddened by all he had heard, and
was in no humor for talking. He remarked that it was getting late,
and proposed to postpone any further conversation till the morrow.

Warren merely answered, "Very well," knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, shared out the remainder of the wine between his host and
himself, and, raising his glass, said, in a somewhat solemn tone,