which held him to hope was broken, and yet he
could not realise what it meant. Ever since he had left The Beeches that
morning, he had lived in a kind of trance. The blow which had fallen had
to an extent paralysed him. Everything seemed a long way off, even
although he knew that a tragedy had taken place in his own life.
Presently, however, it became real to him. Hope was gone, joy was gone,
purpose was gone. The sun had gone down on his wedding-day, and it had
also gone down on his life. There was no light anywhere. For years he
had lived a hopeless life, for years he had been chained by a degrading
habit, for years he had ceased to believe in God, in virtue--in anything
that made life worth the living. Then a new force had come into his
life. Hope, faith, and more than all, love had sprung up in his heart.
The world had become new, and he knew what heaven meant. Then, when the
day had come on which all his desires were to be fully realised, black
ruin had fallen. The new-born hope and faith were destroyed in an hour.
No ray of light appeared anywhere.

"Leicester, old man, may I come in?" It was Winfield who spoke.

"No--yes--that is, who are you?"

"It is I, Winfield."

"Come in."

Winfield entered, and he had no need to be told what had happened. For
this reason he asked no questions, he only said:

"Come and have some dinner, Leicester."

"Look," said Leicester, showing him the unopened letter.

"Yes, I see, old man. Come and have some dinner."

"Good," replied Leicester feverishly, "that's it, dinner! Haven't I
always maintained that there was no love affair in the world but could
be cured by a good dinner and a bottle of champagne? We'll prove it old
man. Dinner, that's it; and afterwards--we'll make a night of it
somewhere."

A new light had come into his eyes, and even Winfield, who was no saint,
saw that it was evil.

"I haven't touched a drop of whisky for months," went on Leicester.
"I've been a whining dog, running at the heels of--but there, I'll make
up for lost time to-night. Come on, Winfield!"

"Hadn't we better dress for dinner?" said Winfield. "I always keep some
dress clothes here at the club."

"Hang dressing! Let's go as we are; how can we be better dressed for a
drinking bout than in riding attire? Tally ho! my boy. 'If she be not
fair to me, what care I how fair she be?' That's the proper spirit,
isn't it? I've been a sort of a dog led by a string for the last few
months, now I