His troublesome conscience, stirred by Seth's reference to swimming, was again in full working order.

He tried to stifle its reproaches, tried to give his entire attention to his labors about the lights and in the kitchen, but the consciousness of guilt was too strong.

He felt mean and traitorous, a Benedict Arnold on a small scale.

He had certainly treated Atkins shabbily; Atkins, the man who trusted him and believed in him, whom he had loftily reproved for "spying" and then betrayed.

Yet, in a way his treason, so far, had been unavoidable.