hear from me to-morrow."

"Devine finally woke just before the public-houses closed. He staggered
out, and, after his first drink, the memory of what had passed flashed
back on him. He felt in his pockets. Yes! He had some money--a good deal
as it happened, for he had put five shillings on a horse at 33 to 1.
"Pull yourself together, Billy," he muttered. "You must have a warm bed
to-night, and face it out to-morrow. One more drink, and I'll have my
bed here."

In the morning he felt wretched, but when he had regained his nerve by
the usual method he acted like a man. First he wrote a letter to his
wife. (I saw the yellow old copy of it.)

"Dearest,--I had a bit of luck yesterday, and took too much on the
strength of it. I was carried home from this house, and I could not
speak to Lily or any of them. I deserve to lose you, and I will never
ask you to come back unless there is no fear of more misery. But this I
will do. I intend to maintain my own children, if I go and sell matches.
I won eight pounds odd yesterday. I squandered one pound, I keep two to
make a fresh start, and you have the rest. While this heart shall
beat--yes, while memory holds her seat, as the poet says, you are dear
to me. Once more, in the poet's words, I grapple you to my soul with
hoops of steel. What has come over me I do not know, and when I wake to
the fact of my degradation I go madly to the drink again. But I will
try, and I implore your forgiveness. I cannot hope to see you often, and
it is better that I should not, for I am worthless. But think of me,
and, if I fall again and again, believe me that I shall go on striving
to do better.--Until death, I am your loving, W. DEVINE."