wn
in the midst of it, helpless, but with a sense of inner misery. And so
he sat down in it now. "My God!" he said to himself, summing up in the
ejaculation all the wretchedness he had wrought, or that had been
wrought, about him.

It was at such minutes that his mind reverted to Edith, with renewed
stupefaction over what she had done. Stupefaction was the word.
Reflection on the subject only left him the more hopelessly bewildered.
If she hadn't loved him her course might have been explicable. As it
was, he found himself driven to a choice between mental aberration on
her part and a witch's spell, inclining to the latter--with the witch in
the guise of Aunt Emily.

Not that he absolved himself. He made no attempt to do that. But he
looked upon his offense as of the kind that naturally calls for mercy
rather than severity. What was the letter of the contract in comparison
with the spirit?--and he had kept the spirit sacredly. Of course he had
done wrong. Who in thunder, he asked, impatiently, ever denied that? But
how many men had not done wrong in the same way? Very few, was his
answer. The answer was the essence of his defense--a defense which,
according to all the laws of human nature and common sense, Edith should
have accepted. That she shouldn't accept it, or couldn't, or wouldn't,
passed his comprehension.

As a rule, he tried not to think of it. He tried not to think of it by
filling up the time with something else. When there had been nothing
else to fill up the time he had stupefied himself with drink. He drank
at first, not because he liked drinking, but because it dulled his
brain, his heart. It didn't excite him; on the contrary, it brought him
to a state of lethargy which, if he was at the club, made him willing to
go home, or, if he was at home, made it possible for him to go to bed
and sleep. It was only within a month or so that he had begun to suspect
that other people noticed it; and even then he hadn't been sure until
Bland had told him so that day.

He had, consequently, come back to his room in the possession of his
faculties, but with a feeling of something unfulfilled that emphasized
his desolation. He perceived then that a habit was beginning to form in
him with a tenacity which it might be difficult to counteract. After
all, would anything be gained by counteracting it? He had known fellows
who drank themselves to death; and except in the last dreadful stages it
hadn't been so bad. They ha