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if one's doomed to be snuffed out at last along with everything else？' Yes；
yes。 I know exactly how you feel。 It's most distressing if one allows
oneself to be distressed。 But then why allow oneself to be distressed？
After all； we all know that there's no ultimate point。 But what difference
does that make？〃
At this point the somnambulist suddenly woke up。 〃What？〃 he said；
blinking and frowning at his interlocutor。 〃What？〃 Then breaking
away he dashed up the stairs； two steps at a time。
Mr。 Scogan ran to the foot of the stairs and called up after him。 〃It
makes no difference； none whatever。 Life is gay all the same； always；
under whatever circumstancesunder whatever circumstances；〃 he added；
raising his voice to a shout。 But Denis was already far out of hearing；
and even if he had not been； his mind to…night was proof against all the
consolations of philosophy。 Mr。 Scogan replaced his pipe between his
teeth and resumed his meditative pacing。 〃Under any circumstances；〃 he
repeated to himself。 It was ungrammatical to begin with； was it true？
And is life really its own reward？ He wondered。 When his pipe had
burned itself to its stinking conclusion he took a drink of gin and went to
bed。 In ten minutes he was deeply； innocently asleep。
Denis had mechanically undressed and； clad in those flowered silk
pyjamas of which he was so justly proud； was lying face downwards on
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his bed。 Time passed。 When at last he looked up； the candle which he
had left alight at his bedside had burned down almost to the socket。 He
looked at his watch； it was nearly half…past one。 His head ached； his dry；
sleepless eyes felt as though they had been bruised from behind； and the
blood was beating within his ears a loud arterial drum。 He got up；
opened the door； tiptoed noiselessly along the passage； and began to
mount the stairs towards the higher floors。 Arrived at the servants'
quarters under the roof； he hesitated； then turning to the right he opened a
little door at the end of the corridor。 Within was a pitch… dark cupboard…
like boxroom； hot； stuffy； and smelling of dust and old leather。 He
advanced cautiously into the blackness； groping with his hands。 It was
from this den that the ladder went up to the leads of the western tower。
He found the ladder； and set his feet on the rungs； noiselessly； he lifted the
trap…door above his head； the moonlit sky was over him； he breathed the
fresh； cool air of the night。 In a moment he was standing on the leads；
gazing out over the dim； colourless landscape； looking perpendicularly
down at the terrace seventy feet below。
Why had he climbed up to this high； desolate place？ Was it to look at
the moon？ Was it to commit suicide？ As yet he hardly knew。 Death
the tears came into his eyes when he thought of it。 His misery assumed a
certain solemnity； he was lifted up on the wings of a kind of exaltation。
It was a mood in which he might have done almost anything； however
foolish。 He advanced towards the farther parapet； the drop was sheer
there and uninterrupted。 A good leap； and perhaps one might clear the
narrow terrace and so crash down yet another thirty feet to the sun…baked
ground below。 He paused at the corner of the tower； looking now down
into the shadowy gulf below； now up towards the rare stars and the waning
moon。 He made a gesture with his hand； muttered something； he could
not afterwards remember what； but the fact that he had said it aloud gave
the utterance a peculiarly terrible significance。 Then he looked down
once more into the depths。
〃What ARE you doing； Denis？〃 questioned a voice from somewhere
very close behind him。
Denis uttered a cry of frightened surprise； and very nearly went over
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the parapet in good earnest。 His heart was beating terribly； and he was
pale when； recovering himself； he turned round in the direction from
which the voice had come。
〃Are you ill？〃
In the profound shadow that slept under the eastern parapet of the
tower； he saw something he had not previously noticedan oblong shape。
It was a mattress； and someone was lying on it。 Since that first memorable
night on the tower； Mary had slept out every evening； it was a sort of
manifestation of fidelity。
〃It gave me a fright；〃 she went on； 〃to wake up and see you waving
your arms and gibbering there。 What on earth were you doing？〃
Denis laughed melodramatically。 〃What； indeed！〃 he said。 If she
hadn't woken up as she did； he would be lying in pieces at the bottom of
the tower； he was certain of that； now。
〃You hadn't got designs on me； I hope？〃 Mary inquired； jumping too
rapidly to conclusions。
〃I didn't know you were here；〃 said Denis； laughing more bitterly and
artificially than before。
〃What IS the matter； Denis？〃
He sat down on the edge of the mattress； and for all reply went on
laughing in the same frightful and improbable tone。
An hour later he was reposing with his head on Mary's knees； and she；
with an affectionate solicitude that was wholly maternal； was running her
fingers through his tangled hair。 He had told her everything； everything：
his hopeless love； his jealousy； his despair； his suicideas it were
providentially averted by her interposition。 He had solemnly promised
never to think of self… destruction again。 And now his soul was floating
in a sad serenity。 It was embalmed in the sympathy that Mary so
generously poured。 And it was not only in receiving sympathy that Denis
found serenity and even a kind of happiness； it was also in giving it。 For
if he had told Mary everything about his miseries； Mary； reacting to these
confidences； had told him in return everything； or very nearly everything；
about her own。
〃Poor Mary！〃 He was very sorry for her。 Still； she might have
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guessed that Ivor wasn't precisely a monument of constancy。
〃Well；〃 she concluded； 〃one must put a good face on it。〃 She wanted
to cry； but she wouldn't allow herself to be weak。 There was a silence。
〃Do you think；〃 asked Denis hesitatingly〃do you really think that
she。。。that Gombauld。。。〃
〃I'm sure of it；〃 Mary answered decisively。 There was another long
pause。
〃I don't know what to do about it；〃 he said at last； utterly dejected。
〃You'd better go away；〃 advised Mary。 〃It's the safest thing； and the
most sensible。〃
〃But I've arranged to stay here three weeks more。〃
〃You must concoct an excuse。〃
〃I suppose you're right。〃
〃I know I am；〃 said Mary； who was recovering all her firm self…
possession。 〃You can't go on like this； can you？〃
〃No； I can't go on like this；〃 he echoed。
Immensely practical； Mary invented a plan of action。 Startlingly； in the
darkness； the church clock struck three。
〃You must go to bed at once；〃 she said。 〃I'd no idea it was so late。〃
Denis clambered down the ladder； cautiously descended the creaking
stairs。 His room was dark； the candle had long ago guttered to extinction。
He got into bed and fell asleep almost at once。
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CHAPTER XXX。
Denis had been called； but in spite of the parted curtains he had
dropped off again into that drowsy； dozy state when sleep becomes a
sensual pleasure almost consciously savoured。 In this condition he might
have remained fo