"You have asked me two or three times lately, my dear Rathbeal," wrote Robert Grantham, "to relate to you the story of my life, and you have mysteriously hinted that it might be in your power to render me a valuable service, and perhaps to restore the happiness which it was evident to you I had lost. I did not respond to your friendly advances, in which there was a note of affection which touched me deeply; but it seems to me now churlish to refuse the confidence you ask for. It was not because I doubt you that I remained silent. I have long known that I possess in you a friend whose feelings for me are truly sincere, and who would be only too willing to make any personal sacrifice in his power to console and comfort me in my misery. That, indeed, you have already done; and although I can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe you, rest assured, dear friend, that I am deeply sensible of your sympathetic offices. But you can go no farther than this. All your wisdom and goodness would not avail to fulfill the hopes you entertain for my future. So far as I am personally and selfishly concerned I have no earthly future. I shaped my course, and marched straight on--deaf to the dictates of conscience, blind to virtue and suffering--so steeped in the vice that enslaved me, that it was only when the fell destroyer Death took from me the treasures which should have been my redemption, that the consciousness of my wrong-doing rushed upon me, and stabbed me to the heart. It was then too late for repentance, too late to fall upon my knees and pray for mercy and forgiveness. I deserved my punishment, and I bowed my head to it, not with meekness and resignation, but with a bitterness and scorn for myself which words are powerless to portray. "I cannot recall when it was that I first became a gamester, but it was during my school-days that my evil genius obtained a mastery over me that I did not shake off until it had compassed my ruin and the ruin of innocent beings I should have cherished and protected. In the school I went to I had a friend and comrade, a lad of amiable parts and qualities, with whom I chiefly associated; and somehow it happened that he and I fell into the habit of playing cards for our pocket-money. I was not even then a fortunate player, but the loss of my few shillings was amply repaid by the delight I took in these games of chance. There were occasions when my friend reproved me for my infatuation, but I would not listen to him, and I made it a point of honor with him that he should give me opportunities of regaining the money I had lost. Not that I had any great desire to win my money back; it was play I craved for. He was much more concerned at my losses than myself; and I remember once that he offered to return all he had won, which, of course, I would not listen to.