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him； and he stood with his hand on the key； until the cold
began to nibble at John's fingers。
'Why are we standing here？' asked John。
'Eh？' said Alan； blankly。
'Why； man； you don't seem yourself；' said the other。
'No； I'm not myself；' said Alan； and he sat down on the
portmanteau and put his face in his hands。
John stood beside him swaying a little； and looking about him
at the swaying shadows； the flitting sparkles； and the steady
stars overhead； until the windless cold began to touch him
through his clothes on the bare skin。 Even in his bemused
intelligence； wonder began to awake。
'I say； let's come on to the house；' he said at last。
'Yes； let's come on to the house；' repeated Alan。
And he rose at once； reshouldered the portmanteau； and taking
the candle in his other hand； moved forward to the Lodge。
This was a long； low building； smothered in creepers； and
now； except for some chinks of light between the dining…room
shutters； it was plunged in darkness and silence。
In the hall Alan lighted another candle； gave it to John； and
opened the door of a bedroom。
'Here；' said he； 'go to bed。 Don't mind me； John。 You'll be
sorry for me when you know。'
'Wait a bit；' returned John； 'I've got so cold with all that
standing about。 Let's go into the dining…room a minute。
Just one glass to warm me； Alan。'
On the table in the hall stood a glass； and a bottle with a
whisky label on a tray。 It was plain the bottle had been
just opened； for the cork and corkscrew lay beside it。
'Take that；' said Alan； passing John the whisky； and then
with a certain roughness pushed his friend into the bedroom；
and closed the door behind him。
John stood amazed； then he shook the bottle； and； to his
further wonder； found it partly empty。 Three or four glasses
were gone。 Alan must have uncorked a bottle of whisky and
drank three or four glasses one after the other； without
sitting down； for there was no chair； and that in his own
cold lobby on this freezing night！ It fully explained his
eccentricities； John reflected sagely； as he mixed himself a
grog。 Poor Alan！ He was drunk； and what a dreadful thing
was drink； and what a slave to it poor Alan was； to drink in
this unsociable； uncomfortable fashion！ The man who would
drink alone； except for health's sake … as John was now doing
… was a man utterly lost。 He took the grog out； and felt
hazier； but warmer。 It was hard work opening the portmanteau
and finding his night things； and before he was undressed；
the cold had struck home to him once more。 'Well；' said he；
'just a drop more。 There's no sense in getting ill with all
this other trouble。' And presently dreamless slumber buried
him。
When John awoke it was day。 The low winter sun was already
in the heavens； but his watch had stopped； and it was
impossible to tell the hour exactly。 Ten； he guessed it； and
made haste to dress； dismal reflections crowding on his mind。
But it was less from terror than from regret that he now
suffered； and with his regret there were mingled cutting
pangs of penitence。 There had fallen upon him a blow； cruel；
indeed； but yet only the punishment of old misdoing； and he
had rebelled and plunged into fresh sin。 The rod had been
used to chasten； and he had bit the chastening fingers。 His
father was right； John had justified him； John was no guest
for decent people's houses； and no fit associate for decent
people's children。 And had a broader hint been needed； there
was the case of his old friend。 John was no drunkard； though
he could at times exceed； and the picture of Houston drinking
neat spirits at his hall…table struck him with something like
disgust。 He hung back from meeting his old friend。 He could
have wished he had not come to him； and yet； even now； where
else was he to turn？
These musings occupied him while he dressed； and accompanied
him into the lobby of the house。 The door stood open on the
garden； doubtless； Alan had stepped forth； and John did as he
supposed his friend had done。 The ground was hard as iron；
the frost still rigorous； as he brushed among the hollies；
icicles jingled and glittered in their fall； and wherever he
went； a volley of eager sparrows followed him。 Here were
Christmas weather and Christmas morning duly met； to the
delight of children。 This was the day of reunited families；
the day to which he had so long looked forward； thinking to
awake in his own bed in Randolph Crescent； reconciled with
all men and repeating the footprints of his youth； and here
he was alone； pacing the alleys of a wintry garden and filled
with penitential thoughts。
And that reminded him： why was he alone？ and where was Alan？
The thought of the festal morning and the due salutations
reawakened his desire for his friend； and he began to call
for him by name。 As the sound of his voice died away； he was
aware of the greatness of the silence that environed him。
But for the twittering of the sparrows and the crunching of
his own feet upon the frozen snow； the whole windless world
of air hung over him entranced； and the stillness weighed
upon his mind with a horror of solitude。
Still calling at intervals； but now with a moderated voice；
he made the hasty circuit of the garden； and finding neither
man nor trace of man in all its evergreen coverts； turned at
last to the 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 nothing else； he must find and arouse this
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 prolonged disuse。 But Alan's was a room in
commission； filled with clothes； knickknacks； letters； books；
and the conveniences of a solitary man。 The fire had been
lighted； but it had long ago burned 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 toward 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 with no great