him."

The factor passed out, and the other was left alone with the man who had
wronged him. The feeling most active in his mind was pity, and, as he
prepared a draught from his own stock of medicines, he thought the past
and the present all over. He knew that however much he had suffered, this
man had suffered more. In this silent night there was broken down any
barrier that may have stood between Lepage and his complete compassion.
Having effaced himself from the calculation, justice became forgiveness.

He moistened the sick man's lips, and bathed his forehead, and roused him
once to take a quieting powder. Then he sat down and wrote to Rose
Lepage. But he tore the letter up again and said to the dog: "No, Bouche,
I can't; the factor must do it. She needn't know yet that it was I who
saved him. It doesn't make any burden of gratitude, if my name is kept
out of it. The factor mustn't mention me, Bouche--not yet. When he is
well we will go to London with It, Bouche, and we needn't meet her. It
will be all right, Bouche, all right!"

The dog seemed to understand; for he went over to the box that held It;
and looked at his master. Then Jaspar Hume rose, broke the seal, unlocked
the box and opened it; but he heard the sick man moan, and he closed it
again and went over to the bed. The feeble voice said: "I must speak--I
cannot die so--not so." Hume moistened the lips once, put a cold cloth on
the fevered head, and then sat down by the fire again.

Lepage slept at last. The restless hands grew quiet, the breath became
more regular, the tortured mind found a short peace. With the old
debating look in his eyes, Hume sat there watching until the factor
relieved him.