cared to know the weight of an inherited title. For a time, the fact
that he had little or no money did not temper their hospitality with
niggardliness or caution. But their cheery and witty guest began to take
more wine than was good for him or comfortable for others; his bills at
the clubs remained unpaid, his landlord harried him, his tailors pursued
him; and then he borrowed cheerfully and well.

However, there came an end to this, and to the acceptance of his I O U's.
Following the instincts of his Irish ancestors, he then leagued with a
professional smuggler, and began to deal in contraband liquors and
cigars. But before this occurred, he had sent his sister to a little
secluded town, where she should be well out of earshot of his doings or
possible troubles. He would have shielded her from harm at the cost of
his life. His loyalty to her was only limited by the irresponsibility of
his nature and a certain incapacity to see the difference between radical
right and radical wrong. His honour was a matter of tradition, such as
it was, and in all else he had the inherent invalidity of some of his
distant forebears. For a time all went well, then discovery came, and
only the kind intriguing of as good friends as any man deserved prevented
his arrest and punishment. But it all got whispered about; and while
some ladies saw a touch of romance in his doing professionally and
wholesale what they themselves did in an amateurish way with laces,
gloves and so on, men viewed the matter more seriously, and advised
Ferrol to leave Quebec.

Since that time he had lived by his wits--and pleasing, dangerous wits
they were--at Montreal and elsewhere. But fatal ill-luck pursued him.
Presently a cold settled on his lungs. In the dead of winter, after
sending what money he had to his sister, he had lived a week or more in
a room, with no fire and little food. As time went on, the cold got no