“And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?” I asked.

“Why, yes, in a manner. For a while he managed very well; indeed, he was a model of moderation and prudence⁠—something too much so for the tastes of our wild community; but, somehow, Lowborough had not the gift of moderation: if he stumbled a little to one side, he must go down before he could right himself: if he overshot the mark one night, the effects of it rendered him so miserable the next day that he must repeat the offence to mend it; and so on from day to day, till his clamorous conscience brought him to a stand. And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered his friends with his remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were obliged, in self-defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any more potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he would often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of them could desire⁠—but only to lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation the more when the fit was over.

“ ‘Yes, but you wouldn’t let me; and I was such a fool I couldn’t live without you. But now I see what it is that keeps me back, and what’s wanted to save me; and I’d compass sea and land to get it⁠—only I’m afraid there’s no chance.’ And he sighed as if his heart would break.

“ ‘To be sure,’ said I.