Surely some one called Dick? I stopped, but for a second only. I must be getting out of my mind, I thought, as I hurried on again. A few steps brought me to Hyde Park Corner. A few more brought me close to the foot of the Achilles, and, without knowing what I was doing, I sank into a seat. One must rest somewhere, and I was dead beat. The long shadow of the statue fell over me, clothing me in darkness. It fell beyond too, on to the walk, and the huge black silhouette stretched even unto the trees. A portion of my seat was in moonlight, and the muffled rumble of carriage wheels reached my ears from the road in front. It might have been fancy; but I saw a dark figure glide past the moonlit road into the shadow behind me. Some poor wretch--some pariah of the streets as lost as I. I wonder if any of the three-volume novelists ever felt the sensation of being absolutely stone broke. Nothing but these words "stone broke" can describe it. I am not going to try and paint a picture of my condition. I was stone broke, and Mary--the very air was full of Marys! Mechanically I opened the purse I still held in my hand, and looked at its contents. I don't know why I did this. I remember once shooting a stag, and when I came up to it, I found the poor beast in its mortal agony trying to nibble the heather--it was nibbling the heather. And here I was, wounded to death, looking at the contents of a Russian leather purse with idle curiosity. It was heavy with gold--her gold--Mary's. Damn her! she ruined my life. I flung the purse from me, and it made a black arc in the moonlight, ere it fell with a little clash beyond. I saw the gold as it rolled on the gravel walk in red splashes of light. Ruined my life? Did Mary do this? The old, old story--"the woman gave me and I did eat." Of course Mary ruined my life. Had I anything to do with the wreck of hers? If so, I had committed worse than murder--I had killed a soul. I put my hot head between my hands and tried to think it out; I would think it all out to-night, and give my verdict for or against myself. If against me, then I knew how to die at last. It would not be as at that other time, when my courage failed me. The bitterness of death was already past. I would go over what had been, balance each little grain, measure forth each atom, and the end would be--the end.