ll the other
had gone. In this crafty way we helped each other. On that occasion,
however, he did not adopt any of the usual methods, and though I went
up to my bedroom several times and listened through the wall, I heard
nothing. At last some one told me not to go upstairs, and I returned
to the study, feeling that I now knew the worst. He was still in the
arm-chair, and I again took to the couch. I could see by the way he
looked at me over his pipe that he was wondering whether I knew
anything. I don't think I ever liked my brother better than on that
night; and I wanted him to understand that, whatever happened, it would
make no difference between us. But the affair upstairs was too delicate
to talk of, and all I could do was to try to keep his mind from brooding
on it, by making him tell me things about politics. This is the kind of
man my brother is. He is an astonishing master of facts, and I suppose
he never read a book yet, from a Blue Book to a volume of verse,
without catching the author in error about something. He reads books
for that purpose. As a rule I avoided argument with him, because he was
disappointed if I was right and stormed if I was wrong. It was therefore
a dangerous thing to begin on politics, but I thought the circumstances
warranted it. To my surprise he answered me in a rambling manner,
occasionally breaking off in the middle of a sentence and seeming to
listen for something. I tried him on history, and mentioned 1822 as the
date of the battle of Waterloo, merely to give him his opportunity. But
he let it pass. After that there was silence. By and by he rose from
his chair, apparently to leave the room, and then sat down again, as if
he had thought better of it. He did this several times, always eying me
narrowly. Wondering how I could make it easier for him, I took up a book
and pretended to read with deep attention, meaning to show him that he
could go away if he liked without my noticing it. At last he jumped up,
and, looking at me boldly, as if to show that the house was his and
he could do what he liked in it, went heavily from the room. As soon
as he was gone I laid down my book. I was now in a state of nervous
excitement, though outwardly I was quite calm. I took a look at him as
he went up the stairs, and noticed that he had slipped off his shoes
on the bottom step. All haughtiness had left him now.

[Illustration]

In a little while he came back. He found me reading. He lighted his