om staggered out of his room, down the staircase,
across the quadrangle, up Drysdale's staircase. He paused at the
door to gather some strength, ran his hands through his hair, and
arranged his coat; notwithstanding, when he entered, Drysdale
started to his feet, upsetting Jack from his comfortable coil on
the sofa.

"Why, Brown, you're ill; have some brandy," he said, and went to
his cupboard for the bottle.

Tom leant his arm on the fireplace; his head on it. The other
hung down by his side, and Jack licked it, and he loved the dog
as he felt the caress. Then Drysdale came to his side with a
glass of brandy, which he took and tossed off as though it had
been water. "Thank you," he said, and as Drysdale went back with
the bottle, reached a large armchair and sat down in it.

"Drysdale, I sha'n't go with you to Abingdon fair to-morrow."

"Hullo! what, has the lovely Patty thrown you over?" said
Drysdale, turning from the cupboard, and resuming his lounge on
the sofa.

"No." he sank back into the chair, on the arms of which his
elbows rested, and put his hands up before his face, pressing
them against his burning temples. Drysdale looked at him hard,
but said nothing; and there was a dead silence of a minute or so,
broken only by Tom's heavy breathing, which he labored in vain to
control.

"No," he repeated at last, and the remaining words came out
slowly as they were trying to steady themselves, "but, by God,
Drysdale I _can't_ take her with you, and that--" a dead pause.

"The young lady you met to-night, eh?"

Tom nodded, but said nothing.

"Well, old fellow," said Drysdale, "now you've made up your mind,
I tell you, I'm devilish glad of it. I'm no saint, as you know,
but I think it would have been a d--d shame if you had taken her
with us."

"Thank you," said Tom, and pressed his fingers tighter on his
forehead; and he did feel thankful for the words, though coming
from such a man, they went into him like coals of fire.

Again there was a long pause, Tom sitting as before.

Drysdale got up and strolled up and down his room, with his hands
in the pockets of his silk-lined lounging coat, taking at each
turn a steady look at the other. Presently he stopped, and took
his cigar out of his mouth. "I say, Brown," he said, after
another minute's contemplation of the figure before him, which
bore such an unmistakable impress of wretchedness, that it made
him quite uncomfortable, "why don't you cut that conce