Guy slowly turned his eyes away from Cuthbert's face, and looked straight in front of him. "I see it now," he said. "Listen--don't stop me. I saw it ahead all the way. I've seen it ever since. But--but--it's not _him_--now. Oh, you won't understand. I _know_ he's not here now. This is a spectre--a delusion--but it's very bad to bear. Stop; let me rest a bit." He put his hand over his eyes and lay still--whispering, "I've some more to say." "Yes, tell me everything--tell me just what it is," said Cuthbert, gently. "I can't," said Guy. "Shakespeare was right--and it's very hard to be quite sure. The more one thinks, the harder it is. But whatever that is--which comes to me, I _can_ fight it; I _can_ resist. And I will. I mustn't give in an inch. I've got to hold on with the business, and against the drink, and against the terror. That's all I know; but I know that, though I've almost died of learning it." Guy turned faint after this eager speech, and was forced to lie back and be silent. Presently he spoke again in a faltering whisper-- "Doesn't all this--" "What, my boy? Yes, tell me." "It is so queer--you'll dislike me for it," said poor Guy, simply, and with tears in his eyes. "Anybody would." "Well, I don't," said Cuthbert, in his dry, gentle voice. "You know, I promised to see you through." "It eases me so to have you know it. But no one else--promise me--no one else." "Well--but your best help in the fight would be the doctor." "Oh yes--you may tell him anything you like, anything you can. The real thing is past man's understanding. Only," and he collected his strength, and looked up again steadfastly, "remember--devil or delusion--it is not irresistible, and I can resist." When Guy, soothed by his friend's sympathy, had dropped into a much-needed sleep, Cuthbert still sat beside him puzzled, and, spite of himself, awed by the terrible story. He could not forget the records of that earlier struggle, which had come into his hands, and which Guy must see, as soon as he was fit to do so. He did not understand the experience enough to see why, as he put it, in the half-jesting thought with which deep feeling veils itself, Guy preferred the devil to a delusion. But he saw that mind and soul and body were all in danger, and he recognised that the belief in a resisting power must be fostered and guarded to the utmost. "Only his faith can save him," thought Cuthbert, with a mental start at the familiar ring of words, of which he had never made any personal application. "It's beyond me," he thought, "and I'll take off my hat and wait. He may be crazed, but he's pretty much of a hero. And as for disliking him--well--not much fear of it. I'll do all I know for him."