"For days I was stupefied. Then habit conquered. I went to her. I hoped for sympathy--she laughed at me. It was for the best. Then I told her truths, and she flung them back at me. I knew then what manner of woman she was--without heart, vain, callous, soulless. It is the sport of her life to play with, and cast aside when she is weary of them, the men whom she thinks it worth while to make her slaves. A murderess is a queen amongst the angels to her; it is the souls of men she destroys, and laughs when she sees them sink down into hell. My eyes were opened, but it was too late. I had lost the girl who loved me, and whom I loved. I was head over ears in debt, my work had suffered from constant attendance upon her, I lost my position, and every chance I ever had in life went with it. I have become an ill-paid hack, and even to-day I am not free from debt after years of struggling. Douglas Jesson, I have never spoken of these things to any breathing man, but every word is the gospel truth." Then again there was a silence, for dismay had stolen into the heart of the man who listened. For Douglas knew that the bonds were upon him too, though they had lain upon his shoulders like silken threads. Rice came over to him and laid his hand almost affectionately upon his arm. "Douglas," he said, "you are man enough to strike a blow for your life. You know that I have spoken truth to you." "I know it." "You will be your own man." Douglas turned upon him with blazing eyes. "Rice," he cried, "you are a brick. I'll do it. I'll go to her now." He went out with a brief farewell. Rice sat down upon his one cane chair, and folded his arms. The room seemed very empty. CHAPTER XVIII THE TASTE OF THE LOTUS