ANNIE SEES A CATASTROPHE IF James Gillan had possessed an amount of courage equal to the skill for which we have given him credit more than once, he might have been able to make some resistance to calamity, even now when he beheld before him the uttermost of ruin. He could not. He had been weakened, physically and morally, by the self-indulgence in which he had lived all his life; he was shattered by the prospect of the ruin of his hopes, was visibly trembling, and scarcely fit to walk. Wild, whirling visions scattered each other in his mind as he followed his uncle through the dark passages, remembrances of the fatal marriage-night that had resulted in his separation from his bride. He cursed the violence, the impatience of her conduct, the contempt she had poured on his proposal of years of secrecy, as before now he had cursed the beauty which had so fatally enchained him that it had even induced him to deal honourably. For he had considered his marriage to be an act of supremest virtue, an atoning action for other actions in his life; and not the price that a man who has uncontrolled desires flings down to obtain a wish not otherwise attainable. It was that sensation of having been honourable that made him so little disposed to be honourable now. And yet, as he followed his uncle through the passages he did ask himself whether it might not be better for him to tell the truth, and, if he had nerved himself to that nobler course, he might even then have averted a tragedy. He could not!--it was not in his nature to take so straight a path, and at the moment the risk appeared too great; he would deal rather in faltering words and half-confessions until he could make out on which side safety lay. For the sake of Annie!... but he need not consider Annie; he had already done far too well to her! Thus, tempest-tossed, shaken, with no definite resolution, he found himself once more in his uncle’s library; dark now, except for the candle that Mr Lee held in his hand, and which he set down on the table as he threw himself into a seat. The question that was to be expected came immediately and sternly, as James Gillan also sank into a chair. Oh, if he had been allowed a moment’s breathing-time, it might have been possible for him to decide! ‘Well, sir, I’ve no minutes to waste; I must ask ye for your answer. I’ve heard the woman. What have ye to tell me for yourself?’