y;
a ticking insect in the wall-paper; sounds of night traffic in the great
thoroughfare a quarter of a mile off; the squashing tramp of a policeman
on his rounds; the moaning voices of wind and rain; the very beating of
his own pulses in his head; the very stupor of his own intelligence.

It was still raining when the dismal dawn crept up, and he was chilled
to the marrow. He rose stupidly from the chair in which he had passed
the night, and began to change his dress, stiffly and with difficulty.
During the greater part of the night he had been sitting in a drooping
posture, and he found without trouble or interest that he could not
change it. There was an aching weight upon his loins, but he had no
interest in that either. He sat in his room all day. The chambermaid
came to the door and tapped, and receiving no answer, entered. She
stared to see him sitting at the window and the bed undisturbed, but she
went away again. Somehow the day crawled on, and as the darkness fell he
crept downstairs, and crawled, an aching stoop, to the theatre. He
was an hour before the time, but by hazard he met the manager at the
stage-door.

'Why, great God, Armstrong! what's the matter?'

'I got wet last night,' Paul answered, in a voice which startled him and
pained his throat.

He had not spoken a word since he had said good-bye to Claudia.

'You've no right to be out like this,' said the manager brusquely; 'it's
suicide. You're no good here, you know,' he added, in a kinder voice.
'Here, you, Collins; call a cab, and help Mr. Armstrong into it.'

'Can you do without me?' Paul asked, in that strange voice.

'Do without you? Yes. I've a man at hand that will swallow your lines
and biz in half an hour. Get a fire in your bedroom; have a good stiff
glass of rum as hot as you can drink it. Get somebody to make you
cayenne pills--cayenne-pepper and bread-crumbs. Take three or four, and
have 'em hot. Why, man alive, you've got an ague!'

The cab was brought, and Paul was helped into it and driven home. He
could not lift his hand above his head to pay the fare, and the cabman
descended grumblingly to take it; but seeing how his fare's feet fumbled
at the steps, got down a second time to help him to the door. Paul
walked into the dining-room, hat in hand, and bent The boarders were at
dessert, and Claudia for once was with them.

'No beggars allowed in this bar,' said one of the professional boarders
jocularly, thinking the entrance