“Useless?”

“I will not go back to any public-house—­never.”

“So you said to me four days ago,” Edwards answered.

“This time it is true,” he said, though he did not lift his bleared eyes.  “To-morrow I will take back the portrait, little father; it shall remain with me, in my room.  I do not go back to any public-house, I shall be no more trouble.”  Then he said, timidly raising his eyes, “Does she weep—­that beautiful one?”

“Yes, no doubt,” said Edwards, hastily, and in some confusion.  “Is it not natural?  But you must not say a word about it; it is a secret.  Think of it, and what one has to suffer in this world, and then ask yourself if you will add to the trouble of one who has been so kind to you.  Now do I understand you aright?  Is it a definite promise this time?”

“This time, yes, little father.  You will have no more need to complain of me, I will not add to any one’s trouble.  To-morrow—­no, to-night I take back the portrait; it is sacred; I will not add to any one’s trouble.”

There was something strange about the man’s manner, but Edwards put it down to the effects of drink, and was chiefly concerned in impressing on the dazed intelligence before him the responsibility of the promises he had given.

“To-morrow, then, at nine you are at the shop.”

“Assuredly, if you wish it, little father.”

“Remember, it is the last chance your master will give you.  He is very kind to give you this chance.  To-morrow you begin a new course of conduct; and when the young lady comes back I will tell her of it.”

“I will not add to her troubles, little father; you may be sure of it this time.”

When he had gone, Brand turned to his companion.  He still held that letter in his hands.  His face, that had grown somewhat haggard of late, was even paler than usual.

“I suppose I ought to feel very glad, Edwards,” he said.  “This is a reprieve, don’t you see, so far as I am concerned.  And yet I can’t realize it; I don’t seem to care about it; all the bitterness was over—­”

“You are too bewildered yet, Brand—­no wonder.”

“If only the girl and her mother were over here!” he said; and then he added, with a quick instinct of fear, “What will she say to me?  When she appealed to the Council, surely she could not have imagined that the result would be her father’s death.  But now that she finds it so—­when she finds that, in order to rescue me, she has sacrificed him—­”

He could not complete the sentence.

“But he has richly deserved it,” said Edwards.

“That is not what she will look to,” he said.  “Edwards,” he added, presently, “I am going home now.  This place stifles me.  I hate the look of it.  That table is where they played their little sleight-of-hand business; and oh! the bravery of the one and the indifference of the other, and Lind’s solemn exposition of duty and obedience, and all the rest of it!  Well, what will be the result when this pretty story becomes known?  Rascality among the very foremost officers of the Society! what are all those people who have recently joined us, who are thinking of joining us, likely to say?  Are these your high-priests?  Are these the apostles of self-sacrifice, and all the virtues?”