“Justice is justice, whether a man be dead or alive,” said Miles; “and Douglas is alive to demand his right.”

“Alive!” cried Mr. Moy, starting violently.  “Alive!  Archie Douglas alive!”

“Alive, and in England,” said Julius.  “He slept in my house the night before last.  He never was in the Hippolyta, at all, but has been living in Africa all these years of exile.”

Mr. Moy’s self-command and readiness were all gone.  He sank back in his chair, with his hands over his face.  The brothers looked at one another, fearing he might have a stroke; but he revived in a moment, yet with a totally different expression on his countenance.  The keen, defensive look was gone, there was only something piteously worn and supplicating in the face, as he said—­

“Then, gentlemen, I cannot resent anything you may do.  Believe me, but for the assurance of his death, I should have acted very differently long ago.  I will assist you in any way you desire in reinstating Mr. Douglas in public opinion, only, if it be possible, let my wife be spared.  She has recently had the heaviest possible blow; she can bear no more.”

“Mr. Moy, we will do nothing vindictive.  We can answer for my mother and Douglas,” began Julius; but Miles, more sternly, would not let his brother hold out his hand, and said—­

“You allow, then, the truth of Gadley’s confession?”

“What has he confessed?” said Moy, still too much the lawyer not to see that his own complicity had never yet been stated.

Julius laid before him his own written record of Gadley’s words, not only involving Moy in the original fraud, but showing how he had bribed the only witness to silence ever since.  The unhappy man read it over, and said—­

“Yes, Mr. Charnock, it is all true.  I cannot battle it further.  I am at your mercy.  I would leave you to proclaim the whole to the world; if it were not for my poor wife and her father, I would be glad to do so.  Heaven knows how this has hung upon me for years.”

“I can well believe it,” said Julius, not to be hindered now from grasping Mr. Moy’s hand.

It seemed to be a comfort now to tell the whole story in detail.  Moy, the favoured and trusted articled clerk at first, then the partner, the lover and husband of the daughter, had been a model of steadiness and success so early, that when some men’s youthful follies are wearing off, he had begun to weary of the monotony of the office, and after beginning as Mentor to his young brother-in-law, George Proudfoot, had gradually been carried along by the fascination of Tom Vivian’s society to share in the same perilous pursuits, until both had incurred a debt to him far beyond their powers, while he was likewise so deeply involved, that no bonds of George Proudfoot would avail him.