"Oh, I say, though, you don't mean to say--you can't mean to say--you've squared the beast!" he cried, springing up and making the glasses dance on the table. "Well, yes, I've squared him--in a way." "What way? Half my pay as interest? Seventy per cent. at the final square up six months hence?" "No; but on conditions----" "Conditions? Mosson making conditions?" "Here is a paper signed by him. It is in duplicate, signed and witnessed. He remits you----" "Mosson remitting? The sun'll tumble out of the sky." "He remits you the whole, gives you a receipt in full--there it is in black and white--on condition that you bind yourself to play no more, to give up every kind of gaming and betting, and sign to that effect--witnessed by me. So now, Paul, you are a free man. No question of the descent to Avernus, the mercenary marriage, or anything of the sort--always providing you take this pledge." "Oh, I say!" he muttered thickly, the drops starting on his forehead. "It can't be true--it can't. And the chief?----" "Will know nothing." "But Mosson?" he gasped. "Mosson to make me a present of all that? It's unheard of! Besides, it isn't the square thing; he must be paid--you can't rook him, if he's ever such a beast. And it's nothing to him whether I go under or not." "Mosson is paid to the last centime--that is, he will be if you make this promise." "Paid by whom?" he asked hoarsely. "Naturally not by an enemy. By some one who makes it a stipulation that you never know, by some one who has your welfare so much at heart as to be willing to pay a price for it, who wishes you to be absolutely free and unfettered by any obligation--except that of giving up this stupid, ruinous vice." "The countess!" he whispered, turning cold and sick, as he sank back in the chair he had left, covering his face with his hands. "Pff! Is it likely? I may not give you the smallest hint; I'm bound in honour, so don't ask. But, if you mean the woman you are always helping out of tight places, is it likely? Look here, Paul, there is the paper and its duplicate. Here is a pen--a fountain. Read and sign it. But think before you sign." There was silence for some time--silence except for the fitful return of the quieting storm outside, the crackle of hail on roof and pavement, and the last faint pattering of rain before it stopped. Ivor did not move from his posture, his head fallen forward on the table between the glasses, his face in his hands, his shoulders slightly convulsed once, then rigid. The Anarchist looked at him with a sort of weary patience, but said nothing.