like that--it's the end of something. All the people are crowding
into one corner. Everything is coming to a point."

"What is the point?" asked Turnbull.

"I can't see it," said Evan; "it is too large and plain."

Then after a silence he said: "I can't see it--and yet I will try
to describe it. Turnbull, three days ago I saw quite suddenly
that our duel was not right after all."

"Three days ago!" repeated Turnbull. "When and why did this
illumination occur?"

"I knew I was not quite right," answered Evan, "the moment I saw
the round eyes of that old man in the cell."

"Old man in the cell!" repeated his wondering companion. "Do you
mean the poor old idiot who likes spikes to stick out?"

"Yes," said MacIan, after a slight pause, "I mean the poor old
idiot who likes spikes to stick out. When I saw his eyes and
heard his old croaking accent, I knew that it would not really
have been right to kill you. It would have been a venial sin."

"I am much obliged," said Turnbull, gruffly.

"You must give me time," said MacIan, quite patiently, "for I am
trying to tell the whole truth. I am trying to tell more of it
than I know."