I have been too low, and have eaten
scarcely at all these few days. We came
out, and then I went straight back to the
merchant. He was a punctual man, and had
gone away precisely as the clock had
struck, at the end of the half hour he had
given me. Where had he gone? To his
villa in the country; his carriage had been
waiting ready at the door. No. There was
no one left to take a message, or receive
anything.

Everything was going wrong—taking a
crooked turn. But what did a trifle like
this signify? In the carriage Grainger
began at me.

"You are in a strange way, and if you
don't take care, my friend, you will go off
and die. I know you will say what matter;
but think of leaving her to fight the
battle, to face the debts and duns, the
results of your folly, as I must call it. It
would be highly selfish, would it not? You
safe and out of the confusion, gone to reap
the reward of your piety and good works
in a glorious kingdom, while that poor
angel of a Dora was left to suffer."

He might say what he liked, in what
cold sneering way he pleased. It was all
one to me. What he said was reasonable
though.

"I come back," he went on, "to what I
said this morning. You must do
something—you must make an exertion,
however disagreeable, and, as I said, try and
get back some. Think of all the long hours
of agony before you—nights, days, weeks,
months. What is to become of you?
Perhaps this very night you might reverse
everything, and leave that room happy. I
don't say do this, but think of it."

Nine o'clock.—God Almighty in his
infinite goodness be praised. I come in
with a heart something lighter. Grainger,
you are my saviour. There they are—
fifteen golden napoleons torn from the
clutches of these villains. He was right—
it was a duty to make some exertion, and
though I felt a shudder as we drew near
the fatal rooms, still I was not now to
spare myself, or indulge my delicacies. I
went so far as to accept his loan. After
all, what, was I going to do? This was a
different state of things from the original
one. Was I not going to get my own
money from robbers? That nerved me;
and shall I own it? I said a heartfelt
prayer to Heaven, as I took the first piece
of money in my fingers. Grainger was
good and generous, after all.

"I have done you wrong,"I said, "but
I have tried hard to repair it. You have a
noble nature and a forgiving one."

"Don't be too sure of that," he said;
"spare compliments until the play is over.
But how curious you should be borrowing
money of me, and that money what you
called, I think, the wages of sin!"

We were in the room, and I did not mind
much what he was saying. I shrank back
as I heard the accursed burr of the robbing
wheel.

"I can't go in. My heart droops and
sinks."

I saw black demons coming up and
offering to take my hand. I covered my
face and rushed out on the terrace, where
the innocent and virtuous were taking
coffee.

"Are you mad, or a fool?" Grainger said
to me. "What exhibition are you going
to make?"

"I can't face it," I said; "it will kill
me."

"Then give me my money back," he said,
roughly; "I suppose you don't mean to rob
me, too?"

I did not heed the malignant look he
gave me: for the word, rob, unconsciously
persuaded.

"Come in, come in," I said, hurriedly.

"No fear of being late," he said; "they'll
wait for us."

My wretched heart seemed to thump as I
laid down my first piece, and yet I was
indifferent. I doubt if I would have even
gasped had it been swept off. The man
broken on the wheel feels little after the
first strokes. But with that came fortune
back. I do believe it was the blessing I
had invoked, or perhaps the prayers of
my pet at home, to whom, if things
brighten, and we live over all this, and
the clouds may break one of these days,
I shall show these pages—this strange
analysis of a soul—at a time when distance
has made all less painful to look back to.

When I showed Grainger what I had
got, he was ill-natured and sneering. That
is his way. People are welcome to sneer
at me now.

"A wonderful winning," he said, "but
put it beside what you have lost. It won't
help you much, my friend, when you offer
it as a composition to the bank. I should
like to be present on the occasion."

"Take your money at any rate," I said,
bitterly; "you are behaving very strangely
to me."

"You will only be asking me again," he
said, smiling, "and that would be humiliating.