"Look, look!" he cried, pointing to a part of the room which was only dimly lit. "She is there, there! Don't you see? Her hand is pointing upward!"
Slowly the vision faded, and he saw nothing.
Then came the great temptation of Dick Faversham's life. His will-power, his manhood, had come back to him again, but he felt that he had to fight his battle alone. His eyes were open, but because at his heart was a gnawing despair, he believed there was nothing to live for save what his temptress promised.
She pleaded as only a woman jealous for her love, determined to triumph, can plead. And she was beautiful, passionate, dangerous. Again he felt his strength leaving him, his will-power being sapped, his horror of wrong dulled.
Still something struggled within him—something holy urged him to fight on. His manhood was precious; the spark of the Divine fire which still burnt refused to be extinguished.
"Lord, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy upon me!"
It was a part of the service he had so often repeated in the old school chapel, and it came back to him like the memory of a dream.
"Countess," he said, "I must go."
"No, no, Dick," cried the woman, with a laugh. "Why, it is scarcely ten o'clock."
"I must go," he repeated weakly.