“There, I’m off back to London town to keep a certain party quiet.  You are going on all right here.  You are bound to win, but don’t be rash ­ play her very carefully.”

Glyddyr nodded.

“And now take my advice; go and see a doctor ­that man ­what’s his name?  Get him to set you up, dear boy.  There:  good-bye.  Bless you, my son.  It’s perhaps a million.  Don’t play with it.”

“Haven’t got it to play with.”

“No; but you will have it by-and-by.  There:  once more, good-bye.  Be gentle with her.  Go early in the day, and promise me you’ll call at the doctor’s.”

“Yes, I promise,” said Glyddyr; and he stood watching Gellow, as he was rowed ashore, cursing him bitterly the while, but confessing in his own mind that he was right.

“Yes, I’ll go and see Asher,” he muttered.  “He’ll set me up.  I must go on with it.  I’ll be a good husband to her.  It’ll be like doing penance for the past ­ugh!”

He shuddered and looked ghastly.

“It’s being low makes me think of it so much,” he continued.  “Yes; as soon as the boat gets back I’ll go and see Asher.”

Vacillating to a degree, he was firm in this, and stepped into the boat as soon as it reached the yacht, ordering the men to put him ashore, and this done, the men watching him as he walked sharply away, clinging to the hope that a strong tonic would calm his feelings and give him strength to go on with his plans, and trusting to time to dull the agony of his thoughts.

“Seems horrible to go on,” he said.  “But it will be like penance; and, poor old boy, he did wish it.”  Then aloud ­“Doctor Asher at home?”

He was shown into the doctor’s consulting-room to be warmly received.

“Yes, of course,” said the doctor.  “I don’t wonder you are a bit run down.  I’ll soon set you right.”

Then after a short examination, and a little professional business.

“Wonder whether he knows what’s really the matter with me;” thought Glyddyr.

“Wonder whether he thinks me such a fool as not to know that he is saturated with brandy?” said the doctor to himself, as he composed a draught, while Glyddyr took up a card box from the chimney-piece, opened it mechanically, and then, as the doctor raised his hand to the shelf where the chloral bottle stood, the box slipped through Glyddyr’s fingers, fell on the edge of the fender, burst open, and the cards were scattered over the rug, and beneath the fireplace.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, never mind!  Don’t stop to pick them up.”

Glyddyr paid no heed, but nervously collected the pack together, rose with them in his hands, and then, watching the doctor as he wrote out the directions on a label, involuntarily, and as if naturally from feeling the cards in his hands, began to shuffle them slowly.

The doctor smiled.

“You play a bit, I see.”

“Oh! yes, of course,” said Glyddyr, hastily setting down the pack.  “Confoundedly stupid of me to drop them.”

“Nonsense!  Very unprofessional to have them here, eh?”

“You play, then?” said Glyddyr, repeating the doctor’s query.

“Not often.  No one to play with.  A game now and then would do you good.”

“Yes, yes,” said Glyddyr, eagerly.  “Come on board.  I’m very dull there.”

“Most happy if you’ll have a game here sometimes.”

Glyddyr accepted the proposal so readily that in a few minutes they were seated together at piquet, and when the patient rose he was ten pounds in the doctor’s debt.

“I shall have to give you my IOU, doctor,” said Glyddyr, “I have no cash down here.”

“All right, my dear sir,” said the doctor, smilingly; and Glyddyr wrote the indebtedness upon half a sheet of notepaper, to go away feeling better for his visit, and after the doctor had promised to go on board the yacht that night and give him his revenge.

This was given, Glyddyr managing to win twenty pounds, and receiving back his IOU and a ten-pound note.

“You London gentlemen are too clever for me,” said the doctor, laughingly.  “But never mind; I shall have to win that back.”

“Mustn’t win much off him if I’m to take his medicine,” said Glyddyr to himself.  “Might give me too strong a dose.  Ugh!  What a fool I am to think such things as that.”

“I believe he’s half a sharper,” said the doctor to himself as he was rowed ashore.  “But never mind; let him marry her.  He will be another patient to the good, and I dare say I can manage him, clever as he is.”

The next day Glyddyr called at the Fort, and found Claude at home.  She received him with Mary by her side, and the triumphant feelings that filled his breast after the last encounter with Chris slowly filtered away.

He was not himself he knew, feeling nothing like so strong and well, through having gone to bed the previous night perfectly sober, and refraining that morning from taking what he called a peg to string himself up, for fear that the odour should accompany him on his visit.

He told himself that he never showed to worse advantage, for he was troubled all through the visit by a horrible sensation of nervous dread, starting at every sound, and hurriedly bringing his visit to a close.

On the other hand, Claude thought she had never liked her visitor so well.

“He seemed so full of respectful deference,” she said.

“Yes,” said downright Mary, “but I wish he would take a dislike to the place.  I’m sick of seeing his yacht moored in the harbour.  It’s beginning to blow.  I wish the wind would blow it right away.”

But Glyddyr had not the least intention of going.  In spite of his hurried ending to his visit, he came away feeling better.

“It’s natural that I should feel uncomfortable there, but it will soon wear off, and it’s plain enough to see that I am gradually becoming welcome.  Gellow’s right,” he said, recalling one of their conversations.  “Patience is the thing.

“I’m all right.  Wish I could feel like this when I am there.”

“Good-morning.”

“Ah, doctor.”

“Why it’s `ah, patient.’  You’re better, Glyddyr, decidedly.  You must keep on with that tonic.”

“Yes, ever so much better,” said Glyddyr, who was flushed with hope.  “Come on board and dine with me.”

“Thanks, no.  I’m not such a very bad sailor, but not good enough to enjoy my dinner with the table dancing up and down.  Going to be a gale.”

“Humph!  Yes, I suppose it will be a bit rough, even if we shift the moorings.  Never mind, come and dine with me at the hotel and we can have a private room, and a hand at cards with our coffee.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the doctor, hesitating.

“Yes, come,” said Glyddyr eagerly.  “I’m dull and hipped.  Want a companion.  Do me more good than your tonics.  At seven.”

“Very well,” said the doctor, “seven be it.  Do me good, too, perhaps,” he muttered, as he went away.  “Better for him to marry her.  Yes, I can turn him round my finger.”

He went home musing deeply, and, punctual to time, joined Glyddyr at the hotel, to find him looking flushed and excited.

“Hallo!  That’s not the tonic,” he said.

“Eh!  Tonic?  No, it’s the weather.  Storm always affects me a little.  I was obliged to have a pint of champagne to pull me up.”

The doctor laughed as he shook his head, for he saw in the half-wrecked man before him, a life annuity, if the cards were rightly played, and during the dinner he once or twice told himself that his game was to hurry on the engagement between Claude and Glyddyr.

“If he is wise,” the doctor said to himself, “Glyddyr will play the trump card.  It would take the trick.  Your father’s wish, my dear.  Poor old gentleman.”

They parted almost sworn friends, for the real cards had been kindly to both, and neither had lost or won.

“It’s rather rough for going on board to-night,” said the doctor.

“Pish!  Not a bit I’m not afraid of a few waves.”

“Well, don’t get drowned.”

“Those who are bound to be hanged will never be drowned,” came into Glyddyr’s head as the doctor departed, and the old saw sent quite a chill through him.

“Confound it.  What a coward I am,” he muttered angrily.  “I felt so much better all the evening.  Here,” he said roughly to the waiter, who had come in accidentally, as waiters do when the guests begin to stir.  “My bill.”

That document was quite ready; and after glancing at it, Glyddyr took a bank-note from his pocket-book, and laid it upon the tray.

The waiter bowed, went out, and returned with the note, crossed to a side table where there was a blotting case and inkstand, both of which he brought to where Glyddyr was smoking.

“What’s the matter?  Not a bad one, is it?”

“Oh dear no, sir,” said the waiter, with a deprecatory cough, “only master said would you mind putting your name on the back?”

“Damn your master,” cried Glyddyr, snatching the pen and scribbling down his name.  “There:  you ought to know me by this time.”

“Yes, sir; of course, sir; but we always do that with notes, sir.”

“Get out, and bring me my change.”

“Yes, sir; directly sir.”

“It was your father’s wish, Claude ­your father’s latest wish.  You will not refuse me.  I can wait.”

Glyddyr was muttering this as the waiter brought his change, and the words kept on running in his head as he walked down to the pier, to find his men waiting for him.  The words haunted him, too, as he rode over the rough waves in the little harbour.

“Bah!” he thought, as he reached his cabin and threw himself down, flushed and in high spirits now, “it was an accident, and I am a fool to shrink with a prize like that waiting for me.  I will go on, and she can’t refuse me if I only have plenty of pluck.  I’ve been a bit out of order, and weak.  It’s all right now.  That cad hasn’t a chance.  My wife before six months are gone, and then, Master Gellow, if I don’t send you to the right about I’ll ­”

He stopped, for he remembered Denise.

“No,” he muttered uneasily, “one’s obliged to keep a cad to do one’s dirty work, and Gellow can be useful when he likes.”