THE SPORT OF THE GODS''
"Never mind, Maurice. It is as if you alone knew it."
"It is not, I say, it is not!"
He turned upon his face and began to weep passionately, not like a man, but like a child whose last toy has been broken.
"Oh, my God," he moaned, " my brother, my brother!"
"'Sh, dearie, think— it's— it's— Frank."
"That's it, that's it— that's what I can't forget. It's Frank,— Frank, my brother."
Suddenly he sat up and his eyes stared straight into hers.
"Leslie, no one must ever know what is in this letter," he said calmly.
"No one shall, Maurice; come, let us burn it."
"Burn it? No, no," he cried, clutching at his breast, "It must not be burned. What! burn my brother's secret? No, no, I must carry it with me,— carry it with me to the grave."
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