Sterling. I'm going away for good—that's the best I can do; I want you to forgive me—could you? What do you say? Forgive me for everything! For the sake of the old schoolboy days—
Warden. When are you going?
Sterling. To-day. Will you say good-by to me and wish me well on my journey?
Warden. [Speaks without sympathy.] You can count on me always to help you in any way I can. You can still retrieve a good deal if you're strong enough.
Sterling. I know what a beastly friend I've been, and yesterday was more than any man would stand, but forgive that, too, will you? I've always been a bad lot!
Warden. [Goes to him and speaks, with the sympathy of a man for a child coming into his voice.] No, a weak lot; that's been your ruin, Dickie. I'll see you again before you go.
Sterling. No, I'm going to sleep as long as I can now, and I don't want any one to wake me up; but when I do wake, I shall have other things to do. This is good-by.
Warden. Well, good luck! [He starts to go. The two men look at each other, and finally Sterling gets the courage to hold out his hand. Warden hesitates a moment, then shakes it.] Good luck!
[He goes out Left.
[Sterling, who has been growing more and more drowsy, as soon as he is alone, goes with difficulty to the door and locks it. He is so drowsy that he leans against the door for a moment; then he starts to go back to the table, but is unable to get there and sinks on the sofa half way between the table and the door. His eyes close, but suddenly he starts violently and tries to rise, but cannot, crying out faintly.