There was still the same manly form and intelligent features, but the
rich brown hair that then curled round his open brow, now wild and
matted, only added to the desperate appearance of his sunken eyes and
overhanging brows. Drink did not make him merry. On the contrary he was
more bitter then than ever. Gloomy and ferocious as he had become since
his sister's shame had been known to him, when he drank he only brooded
heavier upon it; and the hope of a more complete revenge only restrained
him then from some desperate act of violence. As he walked to and fro,
chafing with inward passion, he might have been compared to a caged wild
beast, hungry and with food in sight, yet unattainable.

'A curse upon you, Tom!' said he. 'Would you roast us alive, this hot
night? Leave the fire alone and bring your hang-dog face here!'

He treated his associate with the most bitter contempt.

'I doant fancy biding here with narra light!' said the fellow. 'There be
a mort of ugly things here!'

'There's nothing uglier than your own carcase. Drink and get courage. If
your heart is cold with fear, warm it with brandy.'

So saying he took a deep draught himself and handed the bottle to his
companion.

'I hate the stuff!' said he. 'Bah! it's poison--but it rouses me. Fire
this infernal cave! What's that?' A bat, disturbed by the smoke, flitted
close before his face. 'I have had nothing but evil omens to-day. What
is the day of the month?'