It was difficult to believe that any latent spirit of animosity could lurk in the mind of either.

In sober truth, Gilbert, in his heart of hearts, had forgiven his treacherous friend.

Again and again he had told himself that the wrong he had suffered was an unpardonable offence, a thing not to be forgiven upon any ground whatever.

But, lo, when he looked into his mind to discover the smouldering fires of that burning anger which he had felt at first against the traitor, he could find nothing but the gray ashes of a long-expired flame.

The wrong had been suffered, and he loved his old friend still.