This life he had led for two years and now his face had lines; his eyes lacked lustre; his hand trembled when he rolled his cigarettes, but his brain was keener, his intelligence subtler, than ever. The wick of his mental lamp was submerged in alcohol and the light it gave seemed brighter for it. There were those who shook their heads when his name was mentioned; while others only laughed and called it the way of youth unrestrained. There was only one who seemed to see the end--Crowley--Houston's room-mate, nearest pal--as unlike him as white is unlike black, and therefore, perhaps, more fondly loving. It was because he loved him as he did that Crowley saw--saw the end as clearly as he saw the printed page before his eyes, and shuddered at the sight. He saw a brilliant mind dethroned; a splendid body ruined; a father killed with grief--and seeing, thus, he was glad that Houston's mother had passed away while he was yet a little, brown-eyed, red-cheeked boy. His misgivings heavy upon his heart, he spoke of them to Florence. At first, her eyes glinted a cold harsh light, but as he talked on and on, fervently, passionately, that light went out, and another came that burned brighter, as he cried: "Oh, can't something be done? _Something?_" They walked on a way in silence, and then she said, quietly, as was her manner, always: "Do you think I could help?" He seized her hand and she looked up into his eyes, smiling. "Oh, if you could!" he cried; and then: "Would you try?" But before she could answer he flung down her hand saying: "But no, you couldn't; what was I thinking of!" They were walking by the river to the east, where, on the right, the hill rose sheer--a tangle of vivid green--from the heart of which a spring leapt and tinkled over smooth, white pebbles, to lose itself again in the earth below, bubbling noisily. At his expression, or, more at the tone he employed in its utterance, she shrank from him, and then, regardless of her steps, sped half-way up the hill, beside the spring course. There she flung herself upon a mossy plot, face down. Crowley called to her from the road, but she did not answer; he went to her, and stooping touched her shoulder. Her whole body, prone before him, quivered. She was crying. He talked to her a long time, there in the woodland, silence about them save for the calls of the birds. She turned her wet eyes upon his face. "Oh, to think every one doubts me!" she murmured. "You laughed at me when I asked you if I could help--you think I'm only a toy-like girl--a sort of great cat to be fondled always." She seized a stick, broke it impetuously across her knee and rose before him. "I will help!" she cried, "I will--and you'll see what I'll do!" Afterward--long afterward--he remembered her, as she was that moment--her golden hair tumbling upon her shoulders; her eyes blazing, her glorious figure erect, her white hands clenched at her sides.