next instant it was dashed away, and the glass shivered to atoms
against the wall. "You--fool!" Everard said.

A faint, faint smile that very strangely proclaimed a resemblance
between them which was very seldom perceptible crossed Bernard's face.
"I--thought so," he said. "Now look here, boy! Let's stop being
melodramatic for a bit! Take a dose of quinine instead! It seems to be
the panacea for all evils in this curious country."

His voice was perfectly kind, even persusaive, but it carried a hint of
authority as well, and Everard gave him a keen look as if aware of it.

He was very pale but absolutely steady as he made reply. "I don't think
quinine will meet the case on this occasion."

"You prefer another kind of medicine," Bernard suggested. And then with
sudden feeling he held out his hand. "Everard, old chap, never do that
while you've a single friend left in the world! Do you want to break my
heart? I only ask to stand by you. I'll stand by you to the very gates
of hell. Don't you know that?"

His voice trembled slightly. Everard turned and gripped the proffered
hand hard in his own.

"I suppose I--might have known," he said. "But it's a bit rash of you
all the same."

His own voice quivered though he forced a smile. He would have turned
away, but Bernard restrained him.

"I don't care a tinker's damn what you've done," he said forcibly.
"Remember that! We're brothers, and I'll stick to you. If there's
anything in life that I can do to help, I'll do it. If there isn't,
well, I won't worry you, but you know you can count on me just the same.
You'll never stand alone while I live."

It was generously spoken. The words came straight from his soul. He put
his hand on his brother's shoulder as he uttered them. His eyes were as
tender as the eyes of a woman.

And suddenly, without warning, Everard's strength failed him. It was
like the snapping of a stretched wire. "Oh, man!" he said, and covered
his face.

Bernard's arm was round him in a moment, a staunch, upholding arm.
"Everard--dear old chap--can't you tell me what it is?" he said. "God
knows I'll die sooner than let you down."

Everard did not answer. His breathing was hard, spasmodic, intensely
painful to hear. He had the look of a man stricken in his pride.

For a space Bernard stood dumbly supporting him. Then at length very
quietly he moved and guided him to a chair.

"Take your time!" he said gently. "Sit down!"

Mutely Everard submitted.