It seemed unlikely that I should see much more of Tollemache; he would be well in a few days and able to go where he pleased; one more visit would probably be the last I should be obliged to make to him. He evidently did not respond to my overtures in the direction of moral suasion, and, much occupied with other matters, I had almost passed him from my mind. Two days after that evening, however, I received a short note from him; it ran as follows:-- "Will you come and see me as a friend? I'm like a bear with a sore head, but I promise not to be uncivil. "Yours sincerely, "WILFRED TOLLEMACHE." I sent a reply by my man to say that I would have much pleasure in visiting him about nine o'clock that evening. I arrived at Mercer's Hotel at the hour named. Tollemache received me in a private sitting-room. Bottles containing wines and liqueurs were on the table. There was a box of cigars and pipes. [Illustration: "I BADE HIM GOOD-BYE."] "You have not begun that again?" I could not help saying, glancing significantly at the spirits as I spoke. "No," he said, with a grim sort of smile, "I have no craving at present--if I had, I should indulge. These refreshments are at your service. At present I drink nothing stronger or more harmful than soda-water." "That is right," I said, heartily. Then I seated myself in a chair and lit a cigar, while Tollemache filled a pipe. "It is very good of you to give up some of your valuable time to a worthless chap like me," he said. There was a strange mingling of gratitude and despair in the words which aroused my sympathy. "It was good of you to send for me," I rejoined. "Frankly, I take an interest in you, but I thought I had scared you the other night. Well, I promise not to transgress again." "But I want you to transgress again," said Tollemache. "The fact is, I have sent for you to-night to give you my confidence. You know the condition you found me in?" I nodded. "I was in a bad way, wasn't I?" "Very bad." "Near death--eh?" "Yes." "The next attack will prove fatal most likely?" "Most likely." Tollemache applied a match to his pipe--he leant back in his chair and inhaled the narcotic deeply--a thin curl of blue smoke ascended into the air. He suddenly removed the pipe from his mouth. "Twenty-three years of age," he said, aloud, "the only son of a millionaire--a dipsomaniac! Craving comes on about every three to four months. Have had delirium tremens twice--doctor says third attack will kill. A gloomy prospect mine, eh, Halifax?" "You must not sentimentalize over it," I said; "you have got to face it and trample on the enemy. No man of twenty-three with a frame like yours and a brain like yours need be conquered by a vice." "You know nothing about it," he responded, roughly. "When it comes on me it has the strength of a demon. It shakes my life to the foundations. My strength goes. I am like Samson shorn of his locks."