He felt two eyes examining his soul. He had the consciousness that there
was nothing hid from this intense gaze. Then a commanding voice spoke
to him, and a hand of unutterable persuasion touched his forehead.

"Harland Slack!" said the ringing voice. Beginning a little above a
whisper it seemed to increase to oratorical tones: then it reverberated
throughout his nature, and burst upon him like the rattle of thunder.
"Harland Slack, you have had a terrible lesson. Harland Slack, you will
not drink again!" Then after a pause in a different voice, "Now, Slack
get up! You're all right now. Come!"

With a mighty wrench Harland, at his bidding, cast off the numbness from
his body, the incubus from his will, and staggering to his feet opened
his eyes.

Before him stood Dr. Alaric Randolph holding his hand and looking
searchingly into his face.

This fact recalled to him his awful deed. He understood perfectly that
he had committed a murder. He knew not how, or why, or where. With a
tremulous look about him he burst into tears and clung for protection to
his enigmatical host.

As tenderly as a hospital nurse Dr. Randolph led the criminal to a deep
chair and placed him in it.

"There, there, old fellow. It's all right. You will come out of it all
straight. I'll see you through. Trust me. There, take my hand. That will
help you, see?"

The broken man, shuddering from weakness, clasped the sympathetic hand
and wrung it. Harland sat still a long while with closed eyes. The
doctor watched him professionally, even tenderly, at times anxiously.

"Now," he said, "I'll go and bring you a _demitasse_. It will set you on
your feet."

"No, no!" cried Harland in terror, "don't leave me. I can't be left
alone."

"But only to the next room."

The patient's hands relaxed, and he assented wearily. When the coffee
came, he drank a little obediently.

"Now, my boy," said the Doctor, with what under the circumstances seemed
to Harland a ghastly cheerfulness, "this will get you up entirely. When
you finish it, I am going to send you to the Club!" At the mention of
the Club Harland began to tremble.

"My God, Randolph! I can't go there. I'll be arrested." He glanced
apprehensively at the outer door as if expecting a policeman. "Don't you
know," he added in a whisper, "what I've done in your infernal place?"

"Nonsense!" replied Randolph lightly, "not a soul shall know you've been
here. She deserved it. I'll take all the blame. N