He did not say that he had been pacing the inn and its precincts for hours, longing to hear the result of his friend's visit to Bourne Square, but unable to make up his mind to go up till the last, when, in a fit of desperation, he had mounted the stairs. "I will not quarrel with him if he is the winner. One was obliged to go down. I can't afford to lose lover and friend in one day, even if it does make one sore." He had taken that sentence and said it in a hundred different ways that evening, and it was upon his lips as he had at last knocked at Stratton's door. Upon his first entrance he had not noticed anything particular in his friend, being in a feverish, excited state, full of his own disappointment; but as Stratton remained silent, gazing hard at him, he looked in his face wonderingly; and as, by the half light, he made out his haggard countenance and the wild, staring look in his eyes, a rush of hope sent the blood bubbling, as it were, through his veins. "Has she refused him?" rang in his ears, and, speechless for the moment, with his heart throbbing wildly, and his throat hot and dry, he took a step forward as he saw _carafe_ and water glass before him, caught up the latter, and raised it to his lips. But only to start back in wonder and alarm, for, with a hoarse cry, Stratton struck the glass from his hand, scattered its contents over the hearthrug, and the glass itself flew into fragments against the bars of the grate. "Here, what's the matter with you, old fellow?" cried Guest wonderingly. "Don't act like that." Stratton babbled a few incoherent words, and sank back in the lounge, covering his face with his hands, and a hoarse hysterical cry escaped from his lips. Guest looked at him in astonishment, then at the table, where, in the broad circle of light, he saw the letters his friend had written, one being directed to himself. They explained little, but the next instant he saw the wide-mouthed, stoppered bottle, caught it up, examined the label, and held it at arm's length. "The cyanide!" he cried excitedly. "Mal! Stratton, old chap! Good God! You surely--no, it is impossible. Speak to me, old man! Tell me, or I shall go mad! Did Edie refuse you?" Stratton's hands dropped from his face as he rose in his seat, staring wildly at his friend. "Edie!" he said wonderingly. "Yes, Edie!" cried Guest excitedly as he bent down toward his friend. "Here, stop a minute; what shall I do with this cursed stuff?" Striding to the window, he threw it open, leaned out, and dashed the bottle down upon the pavement, shivering it and its contents to fragments. "Now speak," he cried as soon as he had returned. "No fooling, man; speak the truth." "Edie?" said Stratton again as he sat there trembling as if smitten by some dire disease. "Yes. You told me you were going to tell her of your success--to ask the admiral to give you leave to speak to her." "No, no," said Stratton slowly.