case. What is the motive that prompts him to smile when the grave is before him? What, perhaps, but the fascination of suicide. There are some men who at first feel like jumping from a high elevation into the void below. The feeling grows if at all indulged. There is a strange and, indeed, wonderful fascination in high precipices. The very fact that life can be taken is fascinating often to fatality. The majority of cases of suicide by pistol or by poison would not have occurred if the weapon or potion had been absent. Their very presence keeps the temptation to use them before the would-be suicide with more or less power.
In this case it was the same as many others. Hugh Trethowen's lucidity of mind, granting that there was mental aberration, could not have been fully absent. The fascination of rest, of a possible life beyond, of dramatic sensationalism—all combined—may have been the chief motive-power.
Nevertheless, he stood looking at it calmly. He was bent upon his purpose.
Lifting the glass of brandy and soda, he poured the contents of the phial into it, afterwards tossing the bottle into the grate. His hand trembled a little, but by setting his feet firmly he overcame this sudden nervousness, and looked around him for the last time calmly and seriously.
"Well, here's health to my creditors, and long life to the men who, posing as my friends, have ruined me!" he said bitterly, with a harsh laugh.
Heaving one long sigh, he raised the glass to his lips. He was preparing to drink it at one gulp.
At that moment there came Jacob's well-known tap at the door, and he entered, bearing a letter upon a salver.
Trethowen started, and quickly replaced the glass
