t it; then abruptly returned it to his lips and drew it
fiercely back to life.

Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I made you a promise
yesterday."

"You did," said Crowther gravely.

Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I'm
not going to cry off. It's not my way. But--I want you to make me a
promise in return."

"What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone.

Piers made a reckless, half-defiant movement of the head. "It is that you
will never--whatever the circumstances--speak of this thing again to
anyone--not even to me."

"You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said Crowther.

"No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I believe I'm a cur to
ask it. But this thing has dogged me so persistently that I feel like an
animal being run to earth. For my peace of mind, Crowther;--because I'm a
coward if you like--give me your word on it!"

He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelled
him forward. His voice was low and agitated.

"Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's all
you can do to help."

"My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring came Crowther's
reply. "If you want my promise, you have it. The business is yours, not
mine. I shall never interfere."

"Thank you--thanks awfully!" Piers said.

He drew a great breath. His hand went through Crowther's arm.

"That gives me time to think," he said. "What an infernal tangle this
beastly world is! I suppose you think there's a reason for everything?"

"You've heard of gold being tried in the fire," said Crowther.

Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "I'm not gold, my dear chap, but the
tinniest dross that ever was made. Shall we go and have a drink, what?
This sort of thing always makes me thirsty."

It was characteristically abrupt. It ended the matter in a trice. They
went together to the hotel _buffet_, and there Piers quenched his thirst.
It was while there that Crowther became aware that his mood had wholly
changed. He laughed and joked with the bright-eyed French girl who waited
upon them, and seemed loth to depart. Silently, but with a growing
anxiety, Crowther watched him. There was certainly nothing forced about
his gaiety. It was wildly, recklessly spontaneous; but there was about it
a fevered quality that set Crowther almost instinctively on his guard.
He did not know, and he had no means of gauging, e