THE IVORY TOWER
old associate, the man who lies dead upstairs—and in spite of my consideration for him I still preserve his record."
"How do you know about his hate," Horton asked, "or if your letter, since you haven't read it, is a record?"
"Well, I don't trust it—I mean not to be. I don't see what else he could have written me about. Besides," Gray added, "I've my personal impression."
"Of old Gaw? You had seen him then?"
"I saw him out there on this verandah, where he was hovering in the most extraordinary fashion, a few hours before his death. It was only for a few minutes," Gray said—"but they were minutes I shall never forget."
Horton's interest, though so deeply engaged, was not unattended with perplexity. "You mean he expressed to you such a feeling at such an hour?"
"He expressed to me in about three minutes, without speech, to which it seemed he couldn't trust himself, as much as it might have taken him, or taken anyone else, to express in three months at another time and on another subject. If you ever yourself saw him," Gray went on, "perhaps you'll understand."
"Oh I often saw him—and should indeed in your place perhaps have understood. I never heard him accused of not making people do so.
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