"All right," he said, between short gasps for breath. "You can hammer me--if you want someone to hammer. Perhaps--it'll do you good." He was free on the instant. Everard flung round and turned his back. He did not speak, but crossed the room and picked up the glass which lay unbroken on the floor. Bernard followed him, still gasping for breath, "Give that to me!" he said. His soft voice was oddly stern. Everard looked at him. His hand, shaking a little, was extended. After a very definite pause, he placed the glass within it. There was a little white sediment left with a drain of water at the bottom. With his blue eyes full upon his brother's face, Bernard lifted it to his own lips. But the next instant it was dashed away, and the glass shivered to atoms against the wall. "You--fool!" Everard said. A faint, faint smile that very strangely proclaimed a resemblance between them which was very seldom perceptible crossed Bernard's face. "I--thought so," he said. "Now look here, boy! Let's stop being melodramatic for a bit! Take a dose of quinine instead! It seems to be the panacea for all evils in this curious country." His voice was perfectly kind, even persusaive, but it carried a hint of authority as well, and Everard gave him a keen look as if aware of it. He was very pale but absolutely steady as he made reply. "I don't think quinine will meet the case on this occasion." "You prefer another kind of medicine," Bernard suggested. And then with sudden feeling he held out his hand. "Everard, old chap, never do that while you've a single friend left in the world! Do you want to break my heart? I only ask to stand by you. I'll stand by you to the very gates of hell. Don't you know that?" His voice trembled slightly. Everard turned and gripped the proffered hand hard in his own. "I suppose I--might have known," he said. "But it's a bit rash of you all the same." His own voice quivered though he forced a smile. He would have turned away, but Bernard restrained him. "I don't care a tinker's damn what you've done," he said forcibly. "Remember that! We're brothers, and I'll stick to you. If there's anything in life that I can do to help, I'll do it. If there isn't, well, I won't worry you, but you know you can count on me just the same. You'll never stand alone while I live." It was generously spoken. The words came straight from his soul. He put his hand on his brother's shoulder as he uttered them. His eyes were as tender as the eyes of a woman. And suddenly, without warning, Everard's strength failed him. It was like the snapping of a stretched wire. "Oh, man!" he said, and covered his face. Bernard's arm was round him in a moment, a staunch, upholding arm. "Everard--dear old chap--can't you tell me what it is?" he said. "God knows I'll die sooner than let you down." Everard did not answer. His breathing was hard, spasmodic, intensely painful to hear. He had the look of a man stricken in his pride.