Since then he had never thought of it, and the sight of his
brother rushing past, making for Coryston, no doubt, from some unknown
point, excited but a moment's recollection, lost at once in the emotion
which held him.
Newbury struck in, however, before he could express it further; in the same
dry and carefully governed voice as before.
"You are Marcia's brother, Coryston. Yesterday morning she and I were still
engaged to be married. Yesterday afternoon we broke it off--although--since
then--I have received two letters from her--"
He paused a moment, but soon resumed, with fresh composure.
"Those letters I shall answer to-night. By that time--perhaps--I shall know
better--what my future life will be."
"Perhaps!" Coryston repeated, roughly. "But I have no claim to know, nor do
I want to know!"
Newbury gave him a look of wonder.
"I thought you were out for justice--and freedom of conscience?" he said,
slowly. "Is the Christian conscience--alone--excepted? Freedom for every
one else--but none for us?"
"Precisely! Because your freedom means other men's slavery!" Coryston
panted out the words. "You can't have your freedom! It's too costly
in human life.
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