ess affairs through the medium of
another person, and even his meek wife might some day ask questions!

If only he could pull himself together and get a firmer grasp of things
than he had at present! The commercial instinct was strong within him,
and he had a genius for figures, but insomnia and the state of his
nerves seemed to have deprived him of half his powers. He envied his
wife her gentle breathing and her deep sleep; and he would often wake
her in the night when he was most restless, and demand something at her
hands--a very weak cup of tea, or a little milk and hot water--in order
to hear the restoring sound of a human voice.

Lately, however, he had purchased a new sort of tabloid which he used
sparingly, according to the chemist's directions, but at which he often
looked longingly, believing that a little sleep lay within the tiny
glass bottle.

He had lain awake for hours this night, noting the ticking of his
watch, counting the hours as they struck on the neighbouring clock,
falling sometimes into an uneasy slumber which lasted only a few
minutes, and then waking at the sound of his own voice calling aloud in
his sleep. He tried every plan and contrivance, however childish, by
which men have sometimes courted slumber.

He lay in bed very still to-night, his wide-staring eyes looking into
the darkness. He heard every hour as it struck, and his active brain
refused to be quiet for a moment. Difficult things looked gigantic in
the darkness, and everything upon which his thoughts dwelt became
hopelessly exaggerated in his mind. Brandy and other stimulants had
never been a temptation to him; his life had too often depended upon
his wits for him to risk a muddled brain. But he still believed in
tabloids; and as the day dawned, and light crept through the window, he
looked longingly at the little glass vial lying on the dressing-table.
It was three o'clock, and if only he could get a couple of hours' deep
rest before the noise of the city began, he might yet be able to pull
himself together and arrange his affairs.

He rose from the bed and went with unfaltering steps to the
dressing-table and shook the tiny discs into the palm of his hand; and
then he counted them deliberately.

'It's kill or cure!' he said, with that queer courage which never
deserted him, even if it were based entirely upon self-seeking and
self-interest. He threw his head back with the characteristic action
with which he always