"You'll take—take—some din—dinner?" sobbed Sybella.
"No, thanks. I only want a glass of wine and some biscuits . . . And I am tired, so I shall go to bed early—after a cigar."
"I'm sure somebody must have done something, or else you are in some dreadful scrape and won't confess it," wept Sybella. "You are not in the least like yourself."
Cyril made his escape. He could stand no questioning. The night which followed was one long torture of waking and sleeping dreams—Jean's face always prominent.
[CHAPTER XII.]
TAKING COUNSEL.
"It was not her time to love; beside
Her life had many a hope and aim."
R. BROWNING.
CAPTAIN LUCAS was in the depths of despair next morning. It was always thus, after these disappointing failures; but never more thus than now. The breakdown had been so unexpected. After a year and more of continuous victory, he had felt himself secure; it seemed almost absurd to fear that he ever could be overcome again. And in a moment, the shock of temptation had come—the opportunity, the craving, the powerlessness to resist.
Scarcely an hour before Sir Cyril's call, he had been helped, staggering, home by a policeman; and thereafter, Mrs. Lucas would not leave his side. Emmie had no chance of a talk with her that evening; and next morning was no better. It was well that she had not promised an immediate reply.
Captain Lucas was himself again after a night's sleep; but in an abyss of conscious degradation and hopelessness, ready to weep like a child. Nothing was of any use, he moaned. No good to try any longer. It could not be overcome. He had better give in, once for all, and let things go. He would get away somewhere out of everybody's reach. He was only spoiling their lives—his wife's and Emmie's—and the sooner they parted the better.