They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Voilà tout. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. It was Blueskin. "You are a physician; you know the vagaries of men in liquor. "What would you like most in this world?" he asked.
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