There was a long silence. Hubert looked away into the fire. He saw, I think, traced in scarlet flames, the scenes he was going to describe to me; and I, gazing at him, wondered of what nature the change in my friend might be. That he had changed since we were together three years ago was evident, yet he did not look mad. His dark, clean-shaven young face was still passionate. The brown eyes were still lit with a certain devouring eagerness. The mouth had not lost its mingled sweetness and sensuality. But Hubert was curiously transformed. There was a dignity, almost an elevation, in his manner. His former gaiety had vanished. I knew, without words, that my friend was another man--very far away from me now. Yet once we had lived together as chums, and had no secrets the one from the other. At last Hubert looked up and spoke. "I see you are wondering about me," he said. "Yes." "I have altered, of course--completely altered." "Yes," I said, awkwardly enough. "Why is that?" I longed to probe this madness of his that I might convince myself of it, otherwise Hubert's situation must for ever appal me. He answered quietly, "I will tell you--nobody else knows--and even you may--" He hesitated, then he said:-- "No, you will believe it." "Yes, if you tell me it is true." "It is absolutely true. "Bernard, you know what I was when you left England for America--gay, frivolous in my pleasures, although earnest when I was working. You know how I lived to sound the depths of sensation, how I loved to stretch all my mental and physical capacities to the snapping-point, how I shrank from no sin that could add one jot or tittle to my knowledge of the mind of any man or woman who interested me. My life seemed a full life then. I moved in the midst of a thousand intrigues. I strung beads of all emotions upon my rosary, and told them until at times my health gave way. You remember my recurring periods of extraordinary and horrible mental depression--when life was a demon to me, and all my success in literature less than nothing; when I fancied myself hated, and could believe I heard phantom voices abusing me. Then those fits passed away, and once more I lived as ardently as ever, the most persistent worker, and the most persistent excitement-seeker in London.