illity had deserted him. Walking across the room, he struck his
foot against a chair; upon this, he took the chair in his hands, and
threw it across the room. But he hardly arrested the torrent of his
maledictions as he did so. What good was it that he should lie to
himself by that mock tranquillity, or that false laughter? He lied
to himself no longer, but uttered a song of despair that was true
enough. What should he do? Where should he go? From what fountain
should he attempt to draw such small draughts of the water of comfort
as might support him at the present moment? Unless a man have some
such fountain to which he can turn, the burden of life cannot be
borne. For the moment, Vavasor tried to find such fountain in a
bottle of brandy which stood near him. He half filled a tumbler, and
then, dashing some water on it, swallowed it greedily. "By ----!" he
said, "I believe it is the best thing a man can do."

But where was he to go? to whom was he to turn himself? He went to a
high desk which stood in one corner of the room, and unlocking it,
took out a revolving pistol, and for a while carried it about with
him in his hand. He turned it up, and looked at it, and tried the
lock, and snapped it without caps, to see that the barrel went
round fairly. "It's a beggarly thing to do," he said, and then
he turned the pistol down again; "and if I do do it, I'll use it
first for another purpose." Then he poured out for himself more
brandy-and-water, and having drunk it, he threw himself upon the
sofa, and seemed to sleep.

But he did not sleep, and by-and-by there came a slight single knock
at the door, which he instantly answered. But he did not answer it
in the usual way by bidding the comer to come in. "Who's there?" he
said. Then the comer attempted to enter, turning the handle of the
door. But the door had been locked, and the key was on Vavasor's
side. "Who's there?" he asked again, speaking out loudly, but in an
angry voice. "It is I," said a woman's voice. "D----ation!" said
George Vavasor.

The woman heard him, but she made no sign of having heard him. She
simply remained standing where she was till something further should
be done within. She knew the man well, and knew that she must bide
his time. She was very patient,--and for the time was meek, though it
might be that there would come an end to her meekness. Vavasor, when
he had heard her voice, and knew who was there, had again thrown
himself on the sofa. Ther