It was the old story over again set out by St.Paul once and for ever, that of the two laws which make a shuttlecock of man so that he must do what he wills not.
Having once given way to Madame Riennes, who was to him a kind of sin incarnate, he had become her servant, and if she wished to put him to sleep, or to do anything else with him, well, however much he hated it, he must obey.
The thought terrified him.

What could he do?
He had tried prayers, never before had he prayed so hard in all his life; but they did not seem to be of the slightest use.

No guardian angel, not even Eleanor, appeared to protect him from Madame Riennes, and meanwhile, the fog was creeping on, and the octopus tentacles were gripping tighter.

In his emergency there rose the countenance of Miss Ogilvy's dying counsel, welcome and unexpected as light of the moon to a lost traveller on a cloud-clothed night.

What had she told him to do?
To resist Madame Riennes.