Miss Lynde had gone earlier than usual to bed, when Bessie heard Alan's door open, and then heard him feeling his way fumbingly down-stairs. She surmised that he had drunk up all that he had in his room, and was making for the side-board in the dining-room.
She ran and got the two decanters-one of whiskey and one of brandy, which he was in the habit of carrying back to his room from such an incursion.
"Alan!" she called to him, in a low voice.
"Where are you?" he answered back.
"In the library," she said. "Come in here, please."He came, and stood looking gloomily in from the doorway. He caught sight of the decanters and the glasses on the library table. "Oh!" he said, and gave a laugh cut in two by a hiccough.
"Come in, and shut the door, Alan," she said. "Let's make a night of it.
I've got the materials here." She waved her hand toward the decanters.
Alan shrugged. "I don't know what you mean." But he came forward, and slouched into one of the deep chairs.
"Well, I'll tell you what," said Bessie, with a laugh. "We're both excited, and we want to get away from ourselves. Isn't that what's the matter with you when it begins? Doctor Lacy thinks it is.""Does he?" Alan asked. "I didn't suppose he had so much sense. What of it?""Nothing. Merely that I'm going to drink a glass of whiskey and a glass of brandy for every glass that you drink to-night.""You mustn't play the fool, Bess," said her brother, with dignified severity.
"But I'm really serious, Alan. Shall I give you something? Which shall we begin on? And we'd better begin soon, for there's a man coming from the doctor to look after you, and then you won't get anything.""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 yon, and you wouldn't stay. You don't remember anything else?""No. What else?"
