again, he was
about to drink when there was a louder knocking.

Stratton hesitated, set down the glass, crossed the room, and threw open
the doors, first one and then the other, with the impression upon him
that by some means his intentions had been divined and that it was the
police.

"Having a nap, old fellow?" cried Guest hurriedly, as he stepped in,
Stratton involuntarily giving way. "I was crossing the inn and saw your
light. Thought I'd drop in for a few moments before going to my perch."

He did not say that he had been pacing the inn and its precincts for
hours, longing to hear the result of his friend's visit to Bourne
Square, but unable to make up his mind to go up till the last, when, in
a fit of desperation, he had mounted the stairs.

"I will not quarrel with him if he is the winner. One was obliged to go
down. I can't afford to lose lover and friend in one day, even if it
does make one sore."

He had taken that sentence and said it in a hundred different ways that
evening, and it was upon his lips as he had at last knocked at
Stratton's door.

Upon his first entrance he had not noticed anything particular in his
friend, being in a feverish, excited state, full of his own
disappointment; but as Stratton remained silent, gazing hard at him, he
looked in his face wonderingly; and as, by the half light, he made out
his haggard countenance and the wild, staring look in his eyes, a rush
of hope sent the blood bubbling, as it were, through his veins. "Has
she refused him?" rang in his ears, and, speechless for the moment, with
his heart throbbing wildly, and his throat hot and dry, he took a step
forward as he saw _carafe_ and water glass before him, caught up the
latter, and raised it to his lips.

But only to start back in wonder and alarm, for, with a hoarse cry,
Stratton struck the glass from his hand, scattered its contents over the
hearthrug, and the glass itself flew into fragments against the bars of
the grate.

"Here, what's the matter with you, old fellow?" cried Guest wonderingly.
"Don't act like that."

Stratton babbled a few incoherent words, and sank back in the lounge,
covering his face with his hands, and a hoarse hysterical cry escaped
from his lips.

Guest looked at him in astonishment, then at the table, where, in the
broad circle of light, he saw the letters his friend had written, one
being directed to himself.

They explained little, but the next instant he saw the wide-m