Nap turned his head sharply.  “Don’t talk of dying!  You couldn’t die!  And do you seriously imagine for a single instant that I could ever give her happiness?”

“I imagine so, dear fellow, since she loves you.”

“I tell you she wouldn’t have me if I asked her.”

“You don’t know.  Anyway, she must have the chance.  If she doesn’t take it, well, she isn’t the woman I imagine her to be.”

“She’s a saint,” Nap said, with vehemence.  “And you, Luke,—­you’re another.  You were made for each other.  She would be ten million times happier with you.  Why do you want her to marry a blackguard?”

A shadow touched Lucas Errol’s face, but it was only for an instant; the next he smiled.  “You are not a blackguard, Boney.  I always said so.  And the love of a good woman will be your salvation.  No, you’re wrong.  I couldn’t give her real happiness.  There is only one man in the world can give her that.  And I—­am not that man.”  He paused; his eyelids had begun to droop, heavily.  “Say, Nap, I believe I could sleep now,” he said.

“Yes, yes, old chap, you shall.”  Nap raised himself abruptly, banishing his weakness in a breath; only a certain unwonted gentleness remained.  “You shall,” he said again.  “Guess you won’t be afraid now you have got your own way.  But just one thing more.  You’ll be wanting all your strength for yourself for the next few weeks.  Will you—­for my sake if you like—­put all this by till you are winning out on the other side?  She would say the same, if she knew.”

Lucas opened his eyes again, opened them wide, and fixed them steadily, searchingly, upon his brother’s face.

“You’ll play the straight game with me, Boney?” he questioned.  “You won’t try to back out?” Then, in a different tone, “No, don’t, answer!  Forgive me for asking!  I know you.”

“I guess you do,” Nap said, with the ghost of a smile, “better even than I know myself.  You know just how little I am to be trusted.”

“I trust you, Boney, absolutely, implicitly, from the bottom of my soul.”

The words left Lucas Errol’s lips with something of the solemnity of an oath.  He held out a quiet hand.

“Now let me sleep,” he said.

Nap rose.  He stood for a moment in silence, holding the friendly hand, as if he wished to speak, but could not.  Then suddenly he bent.

“Good-night, dear chap!” he said in a whisper, and with the words he stooped and kissed the lined forehead of the man who trusted him....

Half an hour later the door of the adjoining room opened noiselessly and Tawny Hudson peered in.

One brother was sleeping, the quiet, refreshing sleep of a mind at rest.  The other sat watching by his side with fixed inscrutable eyes.

The latter did not stir, though in some indefinable way he made Tawny Hudson know that he was aware of his presence, and did not desire his closer proximity.  Obedient to the unspoken command, the man did not come beyond the threshold; but he stood there for many seconds, glowering with the eyes of a monstrous, malignant baboon.