Ephraim Judd's deathbed confession naturally divided itself into two parts in Clement Hazeldine's afterthoughts, of which the first had reference exclusively to John Brancker, while the second, which in Clem's eyes far exceeded the other in importance, concerned almost wholly his brother and himself. The horror with which he had listened to the latter portion of Ephraim's narrative toned itself down by degrees to a feeling of doubt, and from that, by an easy transition, to one of absolute incredulity. His father commit suicide! The bare idea of such a thing, to anyone who had known the man, was utterly preposterous. But supposing for a moment that the case had been as Ephraim implied, there still remained the robbery of the safe, which had been a concomitant incident of Mr. Hazeldine's death, to be accounted for. The truth was that the sick man's mind had wandered in the course of the previous night, and he had imagined circumstances which had never really happened. During illness the boundary line which divides the realm of fancy from that of fact is easily overpassed, and the weakened mind of the patient is unable to distinguish between the two. That such was the explanation in Ephraim's case it seemed impossible to doubt.

"Yet, if the latter part of his confession has no basis of fact, why assume that the first part had any more valid claim to credence?" Clem asked himself this question more than once, but was unable to answer it to his satisfaction. He could not but admit that that part of the confession which related to John Brancker seemed to bear upon it the stamp of truth; the facts, if facts they were, as told by Ephraim, might very easily have happened; there was nothing intrinsically improbable about them, as there was about that other statement which had reference to Mr. Hazeldine.

Most of us have an easy habit of trying to persuade ourselves that things are as we wish them to be, and this was what Clement strove to do in the present instance, but not altogether successfully. The first portion of Ephraim's confession might be true, and probably was so, he told himself; but the second part was almost as surely fictitious--a vision conjured up by the disordered brain of a sick man.

Clement was anxious to see his brother at the earliest possible moment, and unburthen his mind to him; but it was not till the day after Ephraim's death that he found time to go over to Beecham. On arriving at the Brewery he walked straight into his brother's office feeling pretty sure that he should find him there. Nor was he mistaken. Edward, who was busy writing a letter as he entered, looked up and nodded, and with that Clem sat down to wait till he should be at liberty.

"Glad to see you," said Edward, as he applied the blotting-paper to his letter. "But, you look a bit worried. Anything the matter?"

"Ned," said the younger brother, leaning forward a little, and fixing his eyes intently on the other's face, "have you ever had any cause or reason to suspect that our father, instead of meeting his death at the hand of another, as everyone believed he did, committed suicide?"

On the instant every vestige of color fled from Edward Hazeldine's face; he drew a deep breath that was almost a gasp, and set his teeth hard.

"Great heavens! Edward, you do know, or suspect something of the sort!" cried Clement, staring at his brother's white face and drawn mouth, and feeling for the moment as if the foundations of his life were crumbling under him.

"Yes, I do know," said Edward, after a space of silence, speaking in cold, and, as it seemed, half-defiant tones. "I have known it all along. James Hazeldine was not murdered. He died by his own hand, in order to avert disgrace and ruin from himself and those belonging to him."

Then, before Clement could find a word to say, he rose, and crossing to a safe imbedded in the wall, he unlocked it, and from one of the drawers drew forth his father's letter.

"Read and believe," he said with stern brevity, as he pushed the letter across the table to Clem.

He had been so taken by surprise; the question so abruptly put to him, had afforded him no clue as to how much or how little of the truth was known to his brother, that for the moment his presence of mind had deserted him, and before he had time to recover himself, Clem had challenged the truth.

"Well, he has got the truth now, and much good may it do him," said Edward, grimly, to himself. "Why should he not share it with me? The burthen has been a bitter one to bear. It has led me to do things such as at one time I would have believed no power on earth could have forced me into doing. Yes, let Clem take his share. He is a grown man; why should we not halve the secret? I am not sorry that it has come about as it has. But how and from whom did he obtain the clue?"

Clem read the letter twice over, the first time quickly, and then slowly and deliberately, so that the pith and almost the exact words of each sentence burned themselves indelibly into his memory. Then he refolded it and passed it back to his brother, and then the two sat and looked at each other for a little while in sorrowful silence. Clement was the first to speak.

"You have known this all along, and yet you never told me," he said, with an accent of reproach.

"Where was the need? What good end would it have served? It was enough that one of us should have to carry such a secret about with him. I was the elder, and the burden devolved of right upon me. Besides, my father evidently relied upon my telling no one--not even you."

"It was my duty and my right to have shared it with you. In any case, I am glad--if, indeed, one can be glad about anything in connection with so terrible a secret--that the knowledge has come to me now instead of later on."

"Could I have had my way, it would never have come to you. But before we discuss the matter further, tell me what led you to put that question to me which you flung at my head, as it were, with such startling suddenness."

Thereupon Clement proceeded to enlighten his brother as to all that had passed between himself and Ephraim Judd.

"It is a strange story," said Edward, when he had finished; "but I see no reason for doubting its credibility. All along I have been possessed by a so............