of, and I
will not for an evening, nor for an hour, make myself a brute that you
would despise if you knew his nature. Whether you ever know or not,
what does that matter? I must know. Shall I come back to feel your
inferior? No! Not a day, nor a night, shall there be, the history of
which you might not read." All my own pride was stirred as I looked at
the portrait of this woman, who, I knew, was absolutely pure, and I
would not now have followed Howard had my life depended on it.

I gave the photograph of Faina, which still stood up against the wall,
a flick that sent it horizontal on the marble, and then, with Lucia's
eyes just above me, I sat down to write.

Seven o'clock came, and the bright light pouring into the room over the
table covered with loose sheets of paper found me writing still. I
looked up, then back on the page, decided I need not add another word,
flung down my pen, leaned back in my chair, and proceeded to light up a
cigar. "Good!" I thought with lazy satisfaction, as my eyes wandered
over the completely covered table and the drying sheets upon the floor.

"It was a splendid inspiration that! Had I gone out last night,
infallibly I should have missed it." Just then I heard a blundering,
uncertain step upon the stair, and then a dig in the centre of the door
panel.

I smiled.

"How long will it take him to find the lock, I wonder?" I thought.

The period was protracted. Round and round the keyhole did a shaky,
unsteady hand guide the wandering key. It scratched above, it dug at
the door beneath, while the low indistinct murmur of one repeated word
reached me within. At last, in sheer pity, I got up and opened the door
from the inside. Howard came unsteadily over the threshold, and half
blundered against me. His face was deadly pale; a bright greenish shade
lay close about his bloodshot eyes; his grey lips shook. With
difficulty he staggered to the chair opposite me and sat down. I shut
the door and resumed my seat and cigar.

"Enjoy yourself?" I asked.

He was not very steady on his feet, but fairly clear in his brain.

"Yes. But it's no good--can't stand it," he murmured, pressing his hand
hard upon his head and across his eyes.

His voice was little more than a gasp.

"God!--this weakness"--

We sat without speaking. In the bright light, in a glass opposite, I
caught sight of my own face. I was as pale as he from work, as he from
pleasure. My eyes were as bloodshot as his from slee