"Why this ?" he asked sharply.
"Because," said Sir Terence, "I prefer to tender it before it is asked of me." He was very white, yet by an effort those deep blue eyes of his met the terrible gaze of his chief without flinching.
"Perhaps you'll explain," said his lordship coldly.
"In the first place," said O'Moy, "it was myself killed Samoval, and since your lordship was a witness of what followed, you will realise that that was the least part of my offence." The great soldier jerked his head sharply backward, tilting forward his chin.

"So!" he said.

"Ha! I beg your pardon, Grant, for having disbelieved you." Then, turning to O'Moy again: "Well," he demanded, his voice hard, "have you nothing to add ?" "Nothing that can matter," said O'Moy, with a shrug, and they stood facing each other in silence for a long moment.
At last when Wellington spoke his voice had assumed a gentler note.
"O'Moy," he said, "I have known you these fifteen years, and we have been friends.

Once you carried your friendship, appreciation, and understanding of me so far as nearly to ruin yourself on my behalf.
You'll not have forgotten the affair of Sir Harry Burrard.

In all these years I have known you for a man of shining honour, an honest, upright gentleman, whom I would have trusted when I should have distrusted every other living man.