e house. About the house
the silence seemed to deepen strangely. The door, indeed, stood open as
before; but the windows were still shuttered, the chimneys breathed no
stain into the bright air, there sounded abroad none of that low stir
(perhaps audible rather to the ear of the spirit than to the ear of the
flesh) by which a house announces and betrays its human lodgers. And yet
Alan must be there--Alan locked in drunken slumbers, forgetful of the
return of day, of the holy season, and of the friend whom he had so
coldly received and was now so churlishly neglecting. John's disgust
redoubled at the thought; but hunger was beginning to grow stronger than
repulsion, and as a step to breakfast, if to nothing else, he must find
and arouse the sleeper.

He made the circuit of the bedroom quarters. All, until he came to
Alan's chamber, were locked from without, and bore the marks of a long
disuse. But Alan's was a room in commission, filled with clothes,
knick-knacks, letters, books, and the conveniences of a solitary man.
The fire had been lit; but it had long ago burnt out, and the ashes were
stone cold. The bed had been made, but it had not been slept in.

Worse and worse, then: Alan must have fallen where he sat, and now
sprawled brutishly, no doubt, upon the dining-room floor.

The dining-room was a very long apartment, and was reached through a
passage; so that John, upon his entrance, brought but little light with
him, and must move towards the windows with spread arms, groping and
knocking on the furniture. Suddenly he tripped and fell his length over
a prostrate body. It was what he had looked for, yet it shocked him; and
he marvelled that so rough an impact should not have kicked a groan out
of the drunkard. Men had killed themselves ere now in such excesses, a
dreary and degraded end that made John shudder. What if Alan were dead?
There would be a Christmas Day!

By this, John had his hand upon the shutters, and flinging them back,
beheld once again the blessed face of the day. Even by that light the
room had a discomfortable air. The chairs were scattered, and one had
been overthrown; the table-cloth, laid as if for dinner, was twitched
upon one side, and some of the dishes had fallen to the floor. Behind
the table lay the drunkard, still unaroused, only one foot visible to
John.

But now that light was in the room, the worst seemed over; it was a
disgusting business, but not more than disgusting; and it was