He turned uneasily as if he were about to awake, and then his eyes opened and he gazed on the spectral pallor of the dawn in the windows, his brain rousing from dreams slowly into comprehension of the change that had come. Then collecting his thoughts he rose and stood facing the dawn. He stood for a moment like one in combat, and then like one overwhelmed retreated through the folding doors, seeking his pistol. "Another day begun! Twelve more hours of consciousness and horror! I must go!" * * * * * * None had heard the report of the pistol, and while the pomp of gold and crimson faded, and the sun rose into the blueness of morning, Mike lay still grasping the revolver, the blood flowing down his face, where he had fallen across the low bed, raised upon lions' claws and hung with heavy curtains. Receiving no answer, the servant had opened the door. A look of horror passed over her face; she lifted his hand, let it fall, and burst into tears. And all the while the sun rose, bringing work and sorrow to every living thing--filling the fields with labourers, filling the streets with clerks and journalists, authors and actors. And it was in the morning hubbub of the Strand that Lizzie Escott stopped to speak to Lottie, who was going to rehearsal. "How exactly like his father he is growing," she said, speaking of the little boy by the actress's side. "Frank saw Mike in Piccadilly about a month ago; he promised to come and see us, but he never did." "Swine.... He never could keep a promise. I hope Willy won't grow up like him." "Who are you talking of, mother? of father?" The women exchanged glances. "He's as sharp as a needle. And to think that that beast never gave me but one hundred pounds, and it was only an accident I got that--we happened to meet in the underground railway. He took a ticket for me--you know he could always be very nice if he liked; he told me a lady had left him five thousand a year, and if I wanted any money I had only to ask him for it. I asked him if he wouldn't like to see the child, and he said I mustn't be beastly; I never quite knew what he meant; but I know he thought it funny, for he laughed a great deal, and I got into such a rage. I said I didn't want his dirty money, and got out at the next station. He sent me a hundred pounds next day. I haven't heard of him since, and don't want to." "Suicide of a poet in the Temple!" shouted a little boy. "I wonder who that is," said Lizzie. "Mike used to live in the Temple," said Lottie. The women read the reporter's account of the event, and then Lottie said-- "Isn't it awful! I wonder what he has done with his money?" "You may be sure he hasn't thought of us. He ought to have thought of Frank. Frank was very good to him in old times."