Most of all had the story weighed with him because it afforded the only explanation of why Mr.Caryll had spared his life that morning of the duel.

It was a matter that had puzzled him, as it had puzzled all who had witnessed the affront that led to the encounter.
Between that and the rest--to say nothing of the certificate he had seen, which he could not suppose a forgery--he was convinced that Mr.
Caryll was the brother that he claimed to be.

He gathered from his mother's sudden anger that she, too, was convinced, in spite of herself, by the answers Mr.Caryll had returned to all her arguments against the identity he claimed.
He hated Mr.Caryll no whit less for what he had learnt; if anything, he hated him more.

And yet a sense of decency forbade him from persecuting him now, as he had intended, and delivering to the hangman.

From ordinary murder, once in the heat of passion--as we have seen--he had not shrunk.