to analyse his feelings, he confessed himself
muddled. He had obtained, nay, invited, Warde's confidence; and he dared
not abuse it. It was a time of anguish. He was unable to concentrate his
mind upon work or play, deprived of sleep, haunted by the conviction
that if Desmond knew all, he would turn from him for ever. Then, at the
most difficult moment of his life, the way of escape was opened.

Since the match, John and Caesar had resumed the former unrestrained and
continual intimacy and intercourse. John was in and out of Desmond's
room, Desmond was in and out of John's room, at all hours. They "found"
together, of course, but it is not, fortunately, at meals that boys or
men discuss the things nearest to their hearts. But at night, just
before lights were turned out, or just after, when an Olympian is
privileged to work a little longer by the light of the useful "tolly,"
Caesar and Jonathan would talk freely of past, present, and future. It
was during these much-valued minutes, or on Sunday afternoons, that John
would read to his friend the essays or verses which always fired
Desmond's admiration and enthusiasm. To John's intellectual activities
Caesar played, so to speak, gallery; even as John upon many an afternoon
had sat stewing in the covered racquet-court, applauding Desmond's
service into the corner, or his hot returns just above the line. At
home, in the holidays, the boys had always met upon the same plane. Of
the two, John was the better rider and shot. Both were members of the
Philathletic Club[38] of Harrow, and the fact that Desmond was
incomparably his superior as an athlete was counterbalanced by John's
fine intellectual attainments. If John, at times, wished that he could
cut behind the wicket in Caesar's faultless style, Desmond, on the other
hand, spoke enviously of the Medal, or the Essay, or some other of
John's successes. John spoke often and well in the Debating Society,
getting up his subjects with intelligence and care. So it was
give-and-take between them, and this adjusted the balance of their
friendship, and without this no friendship can be pronounced perfect.

None the less, free and delightful as this resumption of the old
intimacy had been, John knew Caesar too well not to perceive that between
them lay an unmentionable five weeks, during which something had
occurred. From signs only too well interpreted before, John guessed that
Caesar was once more in debt to the Demon. And finally,