I always wondered, I am wondering now, where were
you? What did you do with yourself?
"I went down into Hell," he answered. "Can't you see the marks of it in
my face? For many years I lived in Hell--for many years."
"You puzzle me," she said, in a low tone. "You had no taste for
dissipation. You look as though life had scorched you up at some time
or other. But how? where? You were found in Canada, I know, when your
brother died. But you had only been there for a few years. Before
then?"
"Ay! Before then?"
There was a short silence. Then Arranmore, who had been gazing steadily
into the fire, looked up. She fancied that his eyes were softer.
"Dear friend," he said, "of those days I have nothing to tell--even you.
But there are more awful things even than moral degeneration. You do me
justice when you impute that I never ate from the trough. But what I
did, and where I lived, I do not think that I shall ever willingly tell
any one."
A piece of burning wood fell upon the hearthstone. He stooped and
picked it up, placed it carefully in its place, and busied himself for a
moment or two with the little brass poker.
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