ant back in his chair, dropped his pipe quietly on the floor, and
waited. He knew that Mark Ernshaw, his chum at Eton and his friend at
Balliol--this tall, sparely-built man, with dark hair, high, somewhat
narrow forehead, and big, deep-set, brown eyes, delicate features, and
the somewhat too finely-moulded chin which, taken together, showed him
to the eye that sees to be the enthusiast as well as the man of
intellect, perhaps of genius--was not thinking in the ordinary meaning
of the word. He was praying, and when he saw that this was so he folded
his hands over his eyes, and for nearly ten minutes there was absolute
silence, Vane was thinking and his friend was praying. Perhaps, in
another sense, Vane was praying too, for the strong religious bias which
he had inherited from his father had, since the great crisis of his life
had been passed, and during his close intimacy with Mark Ernshaw, grown
stronger than ever.

He had told him everything. They had gone over the whole of the dismal
history again and again. They had thrashed out the problem in all its
bearings, now arguing with and now against each other, and here was the
last day. To-morrow in the Theatre they would receive the formal
acknowledgment which would crown their academic careers. Vane's
self-imposed probation would then be over, the crisis would be passed,
and his life's course fixed for good and all.

"Well, old man," said Vane, at length, "have you settled it? Upon my
word I feel almost like a man under sentence of death waiting for a
reprieve. But, after all, why should I? I haven't touched a drop of
alcohol for over a year. I needn't say anything about the work I have
done, for you know as much about that as I do myself. I am as sane and
healthy as any man of my age need want to be. Of course, as I have told
you, it was mutually agreed between us, or rather, between her parents
and my father, that we should not meet or correspond until after I had
taken my degree. I've kept the bargain both ways. I haven't written to
her or had a word from her all the time. And now, what is the future to
be? Shall I take up the threads of the old life and marry and live
happily ever afterwards, as they say in the story-books--or shall I----?
No, I don't think I could do that. Don't you think I've shown strength
of mind enough to counteract the weakness of that one night? For the
sake of all you've ever loved, old man, don't look so serious. You're
not going to tell