and an intolerable hunger. He smiled. When had he ever been hungry for
breakfast before? Here he was with a fine appetite: it was like coals of
fire heaped on his head by Nature for last night's business at the Cote
Dorion. How true it was that penalties did not always come with--
indiscretions. Yet, all at once, he flushed again to the forehead, for a
curious sense of shame flashed through his whole being, and one Charley
Steele--the Charley Steele of this morning, an unknown, unadventuring,
onlooking Charley Steele--was viewing with abashed eyes the Charley
Steele who had ended a doubtful career in the coarse and desperate
proceedings of last night. With a nervous confusion he sought refuge in
his eye-glass. His fingers fumbled over his waistcoat, but did not find
it. The weapon of defence and attack, the symbol of interrogation and
incomprehensibility, was gone. Beauty Steele was under the eyes of
another self, and neither disdain, nor contempt, nor the passive stare,
were available. He got suddenly to his feet, and started forward, as
though to find refuge from himself.

The abrupt action sent the blood to his head, and feeling a blindness
come over him, he put both hands up to his temples, and sank back on the
couch, dizzy and faint.

His motions waked Jo Portugais, who scrambled from the floor, and came
towards him.

"M'sieu'," he said, "you must not. You are faint." He dropped his hands
supportingly to Charley's shoulders.

Charley nodded, but did not yet look up. His head throbbed sorely.
"Water--please!" he said.