at he had seen that Dare must
have passed a miserable day. He had never liked him. It was impossible
that he should have done so. But even his more active dislike of the
last few months gave way to pity for him now, and he felt almost ashamed
at the thought that his own happiness was only to be built on the ruin
of poor Dare's.

He made him swallow the contents of his flask, and as Dare choked and
gasped himself back into the fuller possession of his faculties, and
experienced the benign influences of whiskey, entertained at first
unawares, his heart, always easily touched, warmed to the owner of the
silver flask, and of the strong arm that was supporting him with an
unwillingness he little dreamed of. His momentary jealousy of Charles in
the summer had long since been forgotten. He felt towards him now, as
Charles helped him up, and he proceeded slowly on his arm, as a friend
and a brother.

Charles, entirely unconscious of the noble sentiments which he and his
flask had inspired, looked narrowly at his companion, as they neared the
turn for Atherstone, and said with some anxiety:

"Where are you going to-night?"

Dare made no answer. He had no idea where he was going.

Charles hesitated. He could not let him walk back alone to Vandon--over
the bridge. It was long past midnight. Dare's evident inability to think
where to turn touched him.

"Can I be of any use to you?" he said, earnestly. "Is there anything I
can do? Perhaps, at present, you would rather not go to Vandon."

"No, no," said Dare, shuddering; "I will not go there."

Charles felt more certain than ever that it would not be safe to leave
him to his own devices, and his anxiety not to lose sight of him in his
present state gave a kindness to his manner of which he was hardly
aware.

"Come back to Atherstone with me," he said, "I will explain it to Ralph
when he comes in. It will be all right."

Dare accepted the proposition with gratitude. It relieved him for the
moment from coming to any decision. He thanked Charles with effusion,
and then--his natural impulsiveness quickened by the quantity of raw
spirits he had swallowed, by this mark of sympathy, by the moonlight, by
Heaven knows what that loosens the facile tongue of unreticence--then
suddenly, without a moment's preparation, he began to pour forth his
troubles into Charles's astonished and reluctant ears. It was vain to
try to stop him, and, after the first moment of instinctive recoil,
Ch