with passion. Opposite him was Douglas,
his cheek bleeding from the sudden blow which Drexley had struck him,
gazing with blank surprise at his late assailant. Some one had told him
that Drexley was there, had been drinking brandy all day and was already
verging on madness, and he had gone at once into the little bar, hoping
to be able to quieten him. But at his first words Drexley had sprung
upon him like a wild animal--nothing but his own great personal strength
and the prompt intervention of all the men who were present had saved
the attack from being a murderous one. There had been no words--no sort
of explanation. None came now--Drexley was furious but silent.

"I think you had better go away, Jesson," one of the members said. "We
will take him home."

But Drexley heard and shook his head. He spoke then for the first time.

"I want a word with Jesson," he said. "I'm sorry I made a fool of
myself. I'm all right now. You needn't hold me."

They stood away from him. He made no movement.

"I've a word or two to say to Jesson in private," he said. "No one need
be afraid of me. You can tie my hands if you like, but it isn't
necessary."

Cleavers, one of the members who had witnessed the assault, shook his
head.

"I wouldn't trust myself with him if I were you, Jesson," he said.
"He's half mad now, and for some reason or other he's got his knife into
you. You slip off home quietly."

Jesson looked across the room to Drexley, who was leaning against the
wall with folded arms.

"Give me your word of honour, Drexley," he said, "and I'll hear what you
have to say."

"I give it. I swear that I will not lay a finger upon you."

"Come this way, then," Jesson added.

He left the room and entered a small committee chamber nearly opposite.
Drexley closed the door but he showed no signs of excitement.

"Jesson," he began, "I hated you once because I was the poor slave of a
woman who cared nothing for me or any who had gone before me, and who
from the first looked upon you differently. I hated you from the day
Emily de Reuss wrote me, and ordered me to delay your story and deny you
work so that you might be driven to go to her for aid. Then I think I
became apathetic. We drifted together, I tolerated you. The woman I
had worshipped all my life forgot to dole out to me even those few
crumbs of consolation to which I had become accustomed. It was then--I
met--through you--Miss Strong."

Douglas was suddenly interested