a turn for the better, so
sudden as to be almost miraculous, the time when he would any longer
have a roof over his head might be counted by weeks. And now every mail
brought him grumbling, querulous letters asking for money when there was
none to send--bitter and contentious letters, full of complaint and the
raking up of old sores and soul-wearying lamentation; gibing reproaches,
too, to him who had beggared himself that these might live. It would
have been burden enough had it mattered greatly to him whether anyone in
the world lived or not; but here the burden was tenfold by reason of its
utter lack of appreciation, of common gratitude, of consideration for
the shoulders which, sorely weighed down and chafed, yet still supported
it.

But if the refuge which is the resort of the weak held out no temptation
to him, there was another refuge of which the exact opposite held good.
In weird and gloomy form all the recollections and failures of his past
life would rise up and confront him. What an unutterable hash he had
made of it and its opportunities! It did not do to run straight--the
world was not good enough for it; so he had found. That for the past;
for the future--what? Nothing. For some there was no future, and he was
one of these. He saw no light.

Lying on his bed, in the heat of the early afternoon, he realized all
this for the hundredth time. The temptation to end it all was strong
upon him. Stronger and stronger it grew, as though shadowy demon-shapes
were hovering in the shaded, half-darkened room. It grew until it was
well-nigh overmastering. His eyes began to wander meaningly towards a
locked drawer, and he half rose.

Against this temptation his hardened cynicism was no safeguard at all;
rather did it tend to foster it, and that by reason of a corrosive
disgust with life and the conditions thereof which it engendered within
him. Then, in his half-dreamy state, a sweet and softening influence
seemed to steal in upon his soul. He thought he would like to see Lilith
Ormskirk once more. Was it foolishness, weakness? Not a bit. Rather was
it hard, matter-of-fact, logical philosophy. He had made an unparalleled
hash of life. If he were going to leave it now it was sound logic to do
so with, as it were, a sweet taste upon his mental palate.

Was it an omen for good, an earnest of a turn in the wheel of ill-luck?
On reaching Booyseus he was so fortunate as to find Lilith not only at
home but alone. Her fa