get to bed."

I couldn't say a word; we turned, passed Beckford's house once more,
walked briskly down the hill, and reached the Gay Street lodging-
house. I remember the stifling heat of the room as we entered it,
and its contrast to the cool, dark, winter's night outside. I can
vividly recall, too, the old Major's face as he looked up with a
sarcastic remark, but with a shade of anxiety in his bloodshot eyes.
He was leaning back in a green-cushioned chair, and his ghastly
yellow complexion seemed to me more noticeable than usual--his
scanty grey hair and whiskers, the lines of pain so plainly visible
in his face, impressed me curiously. I think I had never before
realised what a wreck of a man he was--how utterly dependent on
others.

Lawrence, who, to do him justice, had a good deal of tact, and who,
I believe, cared for his brother as much as he was capable of caring
for any one but himself, repeated a good story with which he had
been enlivening the Major, and I did what I could to keep up the
talk. Derrick meanwhile put away the chessmen, and lighted the
Major's candle. He even managed to force up a laugh at Lawrence's
story, and, as he helped his father out of the room, I think I was
the only one who noticed the look of tired endurance in his eyes.



Chapter V.

"I know
How far high failure overtops the bounds