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〃So you brought my name in？〃 asked Christopher carelessly。
〃Oh； it was that that did it； it was your name；〃 replied Will breathlessly。 〃I told him you said he was a devilyou did say so； you know。 Christopher Blake was right； he called you 'a devil；' that was it。 Then he ran at me with his stick； and I jerked up the hammer； and Oh； my God； they mustn't hang me！〃
〃Nonsense！〃 retorted Christopher roughly； for the other had dropped upon the floor and was grovelling in drunken hysterics at his feet。 〃It makes me sick to see a man act like an ass。〃
〃Get me out of this and I'll never touch a drop；〃 moaned Will。 〃Take me away from herehide me anywhere。 I'll go anywhere； I'll promise anything； only they mustn't find me。 If they find me I'll go madI'll go mad in gaol。〃
〃Shut up！〃 rejoined Christopher； listening with irritation to the sound of the other's hissing breath。 〃Stop your infernal racket a minute and let me think。 Here； get up。 Are you too drunk to stand on your feet？〃
〃I'm soberI'm perfectly sober；〃 protested Will； and； rising obediently； he stood clutching at the chimney…piece。 〃Get me out of thisonly get me out of this；〃 he repeated； with a desperate reliance on the other's power to avert the consequences of his deed。 〃I've always been a good friend to you；〃 he went on passionately。 〃The quarrel first started about you； and I stood up for you to the last。 I never let him say anything against youI never did！〃
〃I'm much obliged to you；〃 returned Christopher； and felt that he might as well have wasted his irony on a beaten hound。 Turning away from the wild entreaty of Will's eyes； he walked slowly up and down the room； taking care to step lightly lest the boards should creak and awaken Tucker。
The parlour was just as Mrs。 Blake had left it； her highbacked Elizabethan chair； filled with cushions； stood on the hearth； the dried grasses in the two tall vases shed their ashy pollen down upon the bricks。 Even the yellow cat； grown old and sluggish； dozed in her favourite spot beside the embroidered ottoman。
On the whitewashed walls the old Blake portraits still presided； and he found； for the first time； an artless humour in the formality of the ancestral attitudein the splendid pose which they had handed down like an heirloom through the centuries。 Among them he saw the comely； high…coloured features of that gallant cynic； Bolivar； the man who had stamped his beauty upon threegenerations； and his gaze lingered with a gentle ridicule on the blithe candour in the eyes and the characteristic touch of brutality about the mouth。 Then he passed to his father； portly； impressive； a high liver； a generous young blood； and then to the classic SaintMemin profile of Aunt Susannah； limned delicately against a background of faded pink。 And from her he went on to his mother's portrait； painted in shimmering brocade under rose garlands held by smiling Loves。
He looked at them all steadily for a while； seeking from the changeless lips of each an answer to the question which he felt knocking at his own heart。 In every limb； in every feature； in every fiber he was plainly born to be one of themselves； and yet from their elegant remoteness they stared down upon the rustic labourer who was their descendant。 Degraded； coarsened； disinherited； the last Blake stood before them； with his poverty and ignorance illumined only at long intervals by the flame of a soul which； though darkened； was still unquenched。
The night dragged slowly on； while he paced the floor with his thoughts and Will moaned and tossed； a shivering heap； upon the sofa。
〃Stop your everlasting cackle！〃 Christopher had once shouted angrily； forgetting Tucker； and for the space of a few minutes the other had lain silent； choking back the strangling sobs。 But presently the shattered nerves revolted against restraint； and Will burst out afresh into wild crying。 The yellow cat； grown suddenly restless； crossed the room and jumped upon the sofa； where she stood clawing at the cover； and he clung to her with a pathetic recognition of dumb sympathythe sympathy which he could not wring from the careless indifference of Christopher's look。
〃Speak to mesay something；〃 he pleaded at last； stretching out his hands。 〃If this keeps up I'll go mad before morning。〃
At this Christopher came toward him； and； stopping in his walk； frowned down upon the sofa。
〃You deserve everything you'd get；〃 he said angrily。 〃You're as big a fool as ever trod this earth； and there's no reason under heaven why I should lift my hand to help you。 There's no reason there's no reason；〃 he repeated in furious tones。
〃But you'll do ityou'll get me out of it！〃 cried Will； grasping the other's knees。
〃And two weeks later you'd be in another scrape。〃
〃Not a single dropI'll never touch a drop again。 Before God I swear it！〃
〃Pshaw！ I've heard that oath before。〃
Strangling a scream； Will caught him by the arm； dragging himself slowly into a sitting posture。 〃I'll hang myself if you let them get me；〃 he urged hysterically。 〃 I'll hang myself in gaol rather than let them do it。 I can't face it all I can'tI can't。 It isn't grandpa I mind； I'm not afraid of him。 He was a devil。 But it's the restthe rest。〃
Roughly shaking him off； Christopher left him huddled upon the floor and resumed his steady walk up and down the room。 In his ears the incoherent phrases grew presently fainter； and after a time he lost entirely their frenzied drift。 〃A little blowjust a little blow；〃 ended finally in muffled sounds of weeping。
The habit of outward composure which always came to him in moments of swift experience possessed him so perfectly now that Will； lifting miserable eyes to his face； lowered them； appalled by its unfeeling gravity。
〃I've been a good friend to youa deuced good friend to you；〃 urged the younger man in a last passionate appeal for the aid whose direction he had not yet defined。
〃What is this thought which I cannot get rid of？〃 asked Christopher moodily of himself。 〃And what business is it of mine； anyway？ What am I to the boy or the boy to me？〃 But even with the words he remembered the morning more than five years ago when he had gone out to the gate with his bird gun on his shoulder and found Will Fletcher and the spotted foxhound puppies awaiting him in the road。 He saw again the boy's face； with the sunlight full upon iteager； alert； a little petulant； full of good impulses readily turned adrift。 There had been no evil upon it thenonly weakness and a pathetic absence of determination。 His own damnable intention was thrust back upon him； and he heard again the words of Carraway which had reechoed in his thoughts。 〃The way to touch the man； then； is through the boy。〃 So it was the way； after all 。
He almost laughed aloud at his prophetic insight。 He had touched the man vitally enough at last； and it was through the boy。 He had murdered Bill Fletcher； and he had done it through the only thing Bill Fletcher had ever loved。 From this he returned again to the memory of the deliberate purpose of that dayto the ribald jests； the coarse profanities； the brutal oaths。 Then to the night when he had forced the first drink down Will's throat； and so on through the five years