nd put
it in his hand. The unhappy narrator received it with a sapient nod, but
was too polite, or else too stupid, to open it, so closed his fingers on
it, and went maundering on till his story trickled into the sand of the
desert, and somehow ceased; for it could not be said to end, being a
thing without head or tail.

He sat down amidst derisive cheers. About five minutes afterwards, in
some intermittent flash of reason, he found he had got hold of
something. He opened his hand, and lo, a note! On this he chuckled
unreasonably, and distributed sage, cunning winks around, as if he, by
special ingenuity, had caught a nightingale, or the like; then, with
sudden hauteur and gravity, proceeded to examine his prize.

But he knew the handwriting at once; and it gave him a galvanic shock
that half sobered him for the moment.

He opened the note, and spelled it with great difficulty. It was
beautifully written, in long, clear letters; but then those letters kept
dancing so!

"I much desire to speak to you before 'tis too late, but can
think of no way save one. I lie in the turreted room: come
under my window at nine of the clock; and prithee come sober,
if you respect yourself, or

"KATE."

Griffith put the note in his pocket, and tried to think; but he could
not think to much purpose. Then this made him suspect he was drunk. Then
he tried to be sober; but he found he could not. He sat in a sort of
stupid agony, with Love and Drink battling for his brain. It was piteous
to see the poor fool's struggles to regain the reason he had so madly
parted with. He could not do it; and when he found that, he took up a
finger-glass, and gravely poured the contents upon his head.

At this there was a burst of laughter.

This irritated Mr. Gaunt; and, with that rapid change of sentiments
which marks the sober savage and the drunken European, he offered to
fight a gentleman he had been hitherto holding up to the company as his
best friend. But his best friend (a very distant acquaintance) was by
this time as tipsy as himself, and offered a piteous disclaimer, mingled
with tears; and these maudlin drops so affected Griffith that he flung
his one available arm round his best friend's head, and wept in turn;
and down went both their lachrymose, empty noddles on the table.
Griffith's remained there; but his best friend extricated himself, and,
shaking his skull, said, dolefully, "He is very drunk." This notabl