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 to ease Fernand Thoron's dying hours. The man who killed him, the man who has so long been a false friend, stands before you; deal with him as gently as you can."

There was another space of quiet. Margaret, with her hands clasped above her heart, stood silent, looking down, and Philip, with a troubled face, watched her every movement. She had given one low cry; but whether it was a cry of grief or of joy, he did not know. Mrs. Harden wept silently, and the terrier rubbed himself sympathetically against her slipper.

The self-accused man stood silently looking into the faces of his three judges. For a moment no one moved or spoke; then Philip took his old friend by the hand, and Robert, flinging his arms about him, kissed him on either cheek. Together they left the room, and through the open window Margaret saw them walking arm in arm down Esplanade Street. For a moment everything between the two men was forgotten, save the old affection which had revived at the hand-touch. The jealousy, the suspicion, the wrong inflicted, the wrong endured, were all put aside, and they were as brothers. In the generous emotions of atonement and forgiveness, the deadly wound their friendship had received seemed to be healed. To-night they both believed that not even a scar remained.