Here Lothian stopped. His face became whiter than ever. His hand went up to his throat as if there was some obstruction there.
Bishop Moultrie handed him a glass of water. He took it, with a hand that trembled exceedingly. He drank a little but spilt more than he drank.
The black clothed figure of the Priest half rose and took the glass from the poet. All the people there sat very still. Some of them saw the Priest hold up something before the speaker's face—a little bronze something. A Crucifix.
The Bishop covered his face with his hands and never looked up again.
Gilbert went on. "You have come here," he said, "to make a combined effort to kill alcoholism. I have come to show you in one single instance what alcoholism means."
Some one right at the back of the hall gave a loud hysterical sob.
The speaker trembled, recovered himself by a great effort and went on.
"I had everything;" he said with difficulty, "God gave me everything, almost. I had money to live in comfort; I achieved a certain sort of fame; my life, my private life, was surrounded by the most angelic and loving care."
His figure swayed, his voice fainted into a whisper.
Dr. Morton Sims had now covered his face with his hands.