The surliness of that November night broke into dazzling sunlight the
next morning, and the sun was nearly two hours high when Pliny Hastings
rolled himself heavily over in bed, uttered a deep groan, and awoke to
the wretchedness of a new day of shame and misery and self-loathing.

For he loathed himself, this poor young man born and reared in the very
hotbed of temptation, struggling to break the chain that he had but
recently discovered was bound around him, making resolutions many and
strong, and gradually awakening to the knowledge that resolutions were
flimsy as paper threads compared with the iron bands with which his
tyrant held him. After the groan, he opened his eyes, and staring about
him in a bewildered way, tried to take in his unfamiliar surroundings.

"Where in the name of wonders am I now?" he said at last and aloud.
Whereupon Theodore came to the bedside and said, "Good-morning, Pliny."

"What the mischief!" began Pliny, then he stopped; and as memory came to
his aid, added a short, sharp, "Oh!" and relapsed into silence.

"Are you able to get up and go down to breakfast with me?" questioned
Theodore. And then Pliny raised himself on his elbow, and burst forth:

"I say, Mallery, why didn't you just leave me to my confounded fate? I
should have blundered home somehow, and if that long-suffering sister of
mine had chanced to fail in her plans, why my precious father would have
discovered my condition and kicked me out of doors, for good. He has
threatened to do it--and that is the way they all do anyhow. Isn't it,
Mallery? _make_ drunkards, and when their handiwork just begins to do
them credit, kick them out."

"I think it would be well for you to get up and dress for breakfast,"
was Theodore's quiet answer.

"Why don't you give it up, Mallery?" persisted Pliny, making no effort
to change his position. "Don't you see it's no sort of use; no one was
ever more possessed to be a fool than I am. What have all my
everlasting promises amounted to but straws! I tell you, my father
designed and planned me for a drunkard, and I'm living up to the light
that has been given me."

"I see it is quite time you were ready for breakfast, Pliny. I am
waiting, and _have_ been for two hours, and I really haven't time to
waste, while you lie there and talk nonsense. Whatever else you do,
don't be foolish enough to cast all the blame of your misdeeds on your
father."

Pliny turned fiercely. "Who else is there to