" Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. She felt she had to go on. When he tried the scullery door, and would have moved on, Hilary intervened. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. 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. . He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines.
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