"As they carried him after me, it occurred
to me to ask myself what I should do with this
enemy of mine, now that he had fallen thus
unexpectedly into my power. But I put off that
consideration for the present. Let me but get
him home! In the silence and solitude of my
own house I would decide what to do with
him.

"He was brought in here—through this shop
—past where you're sitting now—up those
stairs—and laid on my bed. Then some one
volunteered to go for a doctor; and before you
would have thought it possible, one had arrived
—a young man with a shrewd careworn
countenance—and was in full examination of the
case. He shook his head over it. He doubted
the patient's surviving the night. There had
been recent serious illness, it was clear—fever
probably; and that, with want of food and over-
fatigue, had so prostrated the physical powers,
that he doubted their rallying at all. He would
send medicines, however, to be administered
according to the directions given, and on the care
with which these were obeyed would probably
depend the last chance of life. There ought to
be constant watching, giving of occasional
stimulants, and later, food in very small quantities.
Did I require a nurse? He could send a good
one immediately.

"No, I would not hear of a nurse. I shrank
from the idea of such a spy upon my actions. I
said I would do all that was necessary for the
man myself.

"Looking at me with that keen, almost
suspicious eye of his, he remarked that he would
call again in the morning, and, handing me his
card in case I should want him sooner, repeated
his injunctions as to care, and departed.

"I managed, not without difficulty, to
undress the attenuated form, and lay it inside the
bed; and having done so, went down to prepare
myself some supper. I felt I must both eat
and drink; strength might be required for what
I had to do. Presently, a boy brought the
medicines—two bottles, on one of which was
written, ' To be taken immediately;' on the
other, ' A sixth part to be taken every two
hours.' I carried both up-stairs with my supper,
and, sitting down by the bed, began, for the
first time, to think!

"Here, then, was my enemy, at my mercy.
The man who had twice blighted my life,
destroyed my character, was in my power. I had
but to throw away those medicines, to leave
him alone there, and he would die; the doctor
had said so again and again. And I should be
revenged. He had made my life a living death,
and I should make his a real one. And no
creature would know. I should be safe from
all risk of detection—alone in the house with
him—the key in my pocket. The doctor would
come next morning, and find him dead (as he
had almost foretold), one phial empty, the other
partially so. No eye could detect, no being
discover, the secret of that untimely end. Nor
need I move a finger to produce it. It was
simply to be passive myself, and to let him be
so; to sit there, watching the lamp of life die
out, as it must die if no fresh oil replenished it.
And I should be revenged.

"But stay. Did I think no one would know?
Was there not One who knew all—saw all?
And in the eyes of that One, what would this
thing be? Would it be murder?

"I turned; and looked, not without reluctance,
at—at him. He was moving now, uneasily;
his head had rolled quite off the pillow.
Mechanically, as one picks up a thing dropped on
the floor, I raised the weak head, and having
smoothed the pillow, laid it down again. His
eyes opened, as I did so, with a strange
unconscious stare, then he closed them with a groan.
I sat down again. From my place by the bed
I could see the sky, lovely with soft white
clouds, through which the moon was sailing
fast, sometimes obscured for a moment, then
emerging purer and brighter than ever,
surrounded by a wide circle of brilliant light;. I
gazed long, thinking in a puzzled sort of way of
the Almighty being who had made those
heavens with all their countless stars, which might,
for aught I knew, be each a separate world,
wondering, with a sudden sense of awe, whether
He was there, looking upon me now, as I sat in
that dark room, brooding, meditating—what?

"Suddenly, the prostrate form raised itself,
and, with a wild stare and wilder utterance,
Philip cried out, ' Drink! drink! give me
drink!'

"That cry recalled me to myself. I went to
the drawers where stood the two medicine
phials side by side—his life, the doctor had
said. I took the one ' to be given immediately,'
poured it into a tumbler, and, supporting him
with one hand, held it to his lips with the other,
looking away from him as I did so. He drank
it with indescribable greediness. ' Bless you!
bless you for that!' he faltered, in a faint choked
voice, and fell back again.

"Something in that unconscious blessing
moved me strangely. It seemed as though he
thanked me for sparing his life. Then all at
once, as I looked up at the placid moon, whose
rays made quite a broad path of light through
the chamber, the image of that young curate
rose before me. I saw in my mind's eye his
pale earnest face, his kind eyes, as plain as I
see you now. Again those words sounded in
my ears, ' Remember me for good! When you
are tempted, then remember me, and turn to
Him. There is no happiness in hating; there
is a God-like joy in forgiving.'

"Yes, I could imagine that joy now. I had
tasted something of it but a few moments since,
when I raised the weak form, and administered
the saving draught. ' We cannot go on really
hating those we benefit. It is not in our
human nature.' How that man's words seemed
to live again!

"I looked at Philip. Pale, utterly helpless,
he lay there wholly at my mercy. But he was
safe from me now—safe as though his mother
watched beside him. He was no longer my
enemy. My rancorous hatred seemed to have