! Drink--do anything--but this! You'll want to shoot
yourself afterwards."

But Guy was utterly broken, his self-control beyond recovery. The
only response he made was to feel for and blindly grip the hand
that held him.

So for a space they remained, while the anguish possessed him and
slowly passed. Then, with the quiescence of complete exhaustion,
he suffered Burke's ministrations in utter silence.

Half-an hour later he lay in a dead sleep, motionless as a stone
image, while the man who dragged him from his hell rested upon two
chairs and grimly reviewed the problem which he had created for
himself. There was no denying the fact that young Guy had been a
thorn in his side almost ever since his arrival in the country.
The pity of it was that he possessed such qualities as should have
lifted him far above the crowd. He had courage, he had resource.
Upon occasion he was even brilliant. But ever the fatal handicap
existed that had pulled him down. He lacked moral strength, the
power to resist temptation. As long as he lived, this infirmity of
character would dog his steps, would ruin his every enterprise.
And Burke, whose stubborn force made him instinctively impatient of
such weakness, lay and contemplated the future with bitter
foreboding.

There had been a time when he had thought to rectify the evil, to
save Guy from himself, to implant in him something of that moral
fibre which he so grievously lacked. But he had been forced long
since to recognize his own limitations in this respect. Guy was
fundamentally wanting in that strength which was so essentially a
part of his own character, and he had been compelled at last to
admit that no outside influence could supply the want. He had come
very reluctantly to realize that no faith could be reposed in him,
and when that conviction had taken final hold upon him, Burke had
relinquished the struggle in disgust.

Yet, curiously, behind all his disappointment, even contempt, there
yet lurked in his soul an odd liking for the young man. Guy was
most strangely likable, however deep he sank. Unstable,
unreliable, wholly outside the pale as he was, yet there ever hung
about him a nameless, indescribable fascination which redeemed him
from utter degradation, a charm which very curiously kept him from
being classed with the swine. There was a natural gameness about
him that men found good. Even at his worst, he was never revolting.

He seemed to Burke a mas