hing."

"Don't be ridiculous! Give me those decanters!" Alan struggled out of
his chair, and trembled over to where she had them on the table beside
her.

She caught them up, one in either hand, and held them as high as she
could lift them. "If you don't sit down and promise to keep still, I'll
smash them both on the hearth. You know I will."

Her strange eyes gleamed, and he hesitated; then he went back to his
chair.

"I don't see what's got into you to-night. I don't want anything," he
said. He tried to brave it out, but presently he cast a piteous glance
at the decanters where she had put them down beside her again. "Does the
doctor think I'd better go again?" he asked.

"Yes."

"When?"

"To-morrow."

He looked at the decanters. "And when is that fellow coming?"

"He may be here any moment."

"It's pretty rough," he sighed. "Two glasses of that stuff would drive
you so wild you wouldn't know where you were, Bess," he expostulated.

"Well, I wish I didn't know where I was. I wish I wasn't anywhere." He
looked at her, and then dropped his eyes, with the effect of giving up a
hopeless conundrum.

But he asked: "What's the matter?"

She scanned him keenly before she answered: "Something that I should
like to tell you--that you ought to know. Alan, do you think you are fit
to judge of a very serious matter?"

He laughed pathetically. "I don't believe I'm in a very judicial frame
of mind to-night, Bess. To-morrow--"

"Oh, to-morrow! Where will you be to-morrow?"

"That's true! Well, what is it? I'll try to listen. But if you knew
how my nerves were going." His eyes wandered from hers back to the
decanters. "If I had just one glass--"

"I'll have one, too," she said, with a motion toward the decanter next
her.

He threw up his arms. "Oh well, go on. I'll listen as well as I can."
He sank down in his chair and stretched his little feet out toward the
fire. "Go on!"

She hesitated before she began. "Do you know who brought you home last
night, Alan?"

"Yes," he answered, quickly, "Westover."

"Yes, Mr. Westover brought you, and you wouldn't stay. You don't
remember anything else?"

"No. What else?"

"Nothing for you, if you don't remember." She sat in silent hopelessness
for a while, and her brother's eyes dwelt on the decanters, which she
seemed to have forgotten. "Alan!" she broke out, abruptly, "I'm worried,
and if I can't tell you about it there's no one I can."

The appeal in her voice