rd it rather as a necessary evil than as a thing
desirable in itself. Its momentary sweetness left it more bitter still.
There would be a physical pang, inevitable to a strong man, full of
health. But this he was ready to face; and now, in leaving life he would
leave behind nothing he regretted. The religious condemnation of
suicide, which in former days would not have decided, but prevented such
a discussion in his mind, now weighed little with him. No doubt it would
be an act of cowardice: but he had been guilty of such a much more
flagrant treachery and desertion, that the added sin seemed a small
matter. He felt that to boggle over it would be like condemning a
murderer for trying to cheat the gallows. But still, there was the
natural dislike of an acknowledgment of utter defeat; and, added to
this, the bitter reluctance a man of ability feels at the idea of his
powers ceasing to be active, and himself ceasing to be. The instinct of
life was strong in him, though his reason seemed to tell him there was
no way in which his life could be used.

"It's better to go!" he exclaimed at last, after long hours of
conflicting meditation.

It was getting late in the evening. Eleven o'clock had struck, and he
thought he would go to bed. He was very tired and worn out, and decided
to put off further questions till the next day.

After all, there was no hurry. He knew the worst now; the blow had been
struck, and only the dull, unending pain was with him--and would be
till the hour came when he should free himself from it. He resolutely
turned his mind away from Claudia. He could not bear to think about her.
If only he could manage to think about nothing for an hour, sleep would
come.

He rose to take his candle, but at the same moment a waiter opened the
door.

"A gentleman to see you, sir."

"To see me? Who is it?"

"He says his name's Ayre, and he hopes you'll see him."

"I can't see him at this time of night," said Stafford, with the
petulance of weariness. Why did the man bother him?

But Ayre had followed close on his messenger, and entered the room as
Stafford spoke.

"Pray forgive me, Mr. Stafford," he said, "for intruding on you so
unceremoniously."

Stafford received him with courtesy, but did not succeed in concealing
his questioning as to the motive of the visit.

Ayre took the chair his host gave him.

"You think this a very strange proceeding on my part, I dare say?"

"How did you know I was here?"