sault. Then he took his place in the line, and passed
slowly out of the Yard and out of these pages. He never persecuted John
again.[22]

Not yet, however, was the sun to shine in John's firmament. As the days
lengthened, as June touched all hearts with her magic fingers,
insensibly relaxing the tissues and warming the senses, John became more
and more miserably aware that, in the fight between Scaife and himself
for the possession of Desmond, the odds were stupendously against him.
Truly the Demon had the subtlety of the serpent, for he used the
failings which he was unable to hide as cords wherewith to bind his
friend more closely to him. When the facts, for instance, of what had
taken place in Lovell's room came to Desmond's ears, he denied fiercely
the possibility of Scaife, his pal, making a "beast" of himself. The
laughter which greeted his passionate protest sent him hot-foot to
Scaife himself.

"They say," panted Caesar, "that last winter you were dead drunk in
Lovell's room. I told the beasts they lied."

Scaife's handsome face softened. Was he touched by Caesar's loyalty? Who
can tell? Always he subordinated emotion to intelligence: head commanded
heart.

"Perhaps they did," he answered steadily; "and perhaps they didn't. I
deny nothing; I admit nothing. But"--his fine eyes, so dark and
piercing, flamed--"Caesar, if I was dead drunk at your feet now, would
you turn away from me, would you chuck me?"

Desmond winced. Scaife pursued his advantage.

"If you _are_ that sort of a fellow--the Pharisee"--Desmond winced
again--"the saint who is too pure, too holy, to associate with a
sinner, say so, and let us part here--and now. For I _am_ a--sinner. You
are not a sinner. Hold hard! let me have my say. I've always known that
this moment was coming. Yes, I am a sinner. And my governor is a sinner,
a hardened sinner. His father made our pile by what you would call
robbery. The whole world knows it, and condones it, because we are so
rich. Even my mother----"

He paused, trembling, white to the lips.

"Don't," said Desmond. "Please don't."

"You're right. I won't. But I'm handicapped on both sides. It's only
fair that you should know what sort of a fellow you've chosen for a pal.
And it's not too late to chuck me. Rutford will put Verney in here, if I
ask him. And, by God! I'm in the mood to ask him _now_. Shall I go to
him, Desmond, or shall I stay?"

He had never raised his voice, but it fell upon the sen