"Where's Stella?" inquired Richard.
"She will be here immediately," said Kane, and even as he spoke she entered the room.
"Ring for candles, will you, Sis?" exclaimed Richard, "it gets dark so confoundedly early here."
Stella moved towards the bell, but Kane stayed her with a gesture.
"Not just yet, please, if I may interfere," he said. "I have something to tell you all,—something that is not easy for me to say,—and I think I can get along better by the firelight."
There was a lifeless quality in his voice, and his usually virile tones were curiously muffled. Richard Dysart was as far from divining what was actually coming as either of the other listeners, yet he was conscious of a quickening thrill of expectancy, aroused by Kane's words and manner, and he glanced at him keenly.
"One moment, Kane," he said; "am I concerned in the story?"
"You are!" was the answer, at which Richard drew a deep breath and settled back in his seat.
Stella moved to a place in the recess by the fireplace, where there was deep shadow; Sir Arthur and Richard sat on either side the blaze; Kane remained standing in the centre, declining a proffered seat. All looked at him expectantly.
"Richard Dysart," he began in colorless tones, "nearly a year ago you were treacherously ambushed, shot, and robbed on the banks of the Mooi River. We all know the pitiful story; no need to go over it again. The man who robbed you was then a poor outcast, down on his luck, a very Ishmael, and it may be honestly asserted through no fault of his own. This man saw you, a perfect stranger, start on your prospecting trip into the Karroo country. He tracked you on horseback from day to day, camping within sight of your fire every night, sharing your hardships, starving when you went hungry, freezing through the long dark nights because he dared not kindle a blaze which might have apprised you that you were watched. At first his only thought was to claim shares in whatever you might find. But when, ambushed in the tall grass, he saw you gather untold wealth, the demon of avarice took possession of him, and he determined to have the treasure, even if it came to the taking of life. You were nothing to him then; he simply saw in you one of an army of adventurers, many of whom would have served him the same way. He left you for dead, fled with his spoil to the coast, and thought that his secret was buried in the desert. He was rich, and he became richer; from that hour everything he touched turned to gold. But he had miscalculated the power of conscience, of remorse, and—of love. Sir Arthur and Miss Dysart, I am the man who shot and robbed your brother!"
He ceased speaking and turned away. There was silence in the
