No wonder that men, observing such things, carry their gospel of temperance to fanaticism—indeed, no wonder!
And so this nervous wretch stooped there over his drink, casting fierce, furtive glances around him like some hunted animal, as is the way of one on the brink of delirium tremens—ever impressed with an idea that those around were watching him, and talking of him.
Dr. Duncan, who had been spending the evening at a neighbouring theatre, came into the Albion to have some supper before going home.
His passion for Mary and her strange behaviour, when he declared his love to her at his last interview, had disturbed him greatly, so that, contrary to his wont, he had been nightly visiting some theatre or other place of amusement, with the vain hope of distracting his mind from the uneasy misery which oppressed it, and almost unfitted him for work.
Since that interview, she had rather avoided him, and he had held no conversation with her, save of the briefest and most matter-of-fact description, in the course of their respective duties in the hospital.
There was a gloom on the doctor's brow, and his usually keen-glancing eye was dull of expression. As he walked to an unoccupied table in the corner of the room, he took no notice of anything that was going on around him.
On the other hand, the barrister—who was nervously watching all that passed, and followed every movement with his eyes—raised his head from his elbows, and stared at the other with a savage, insolent manner. Then his expression changed—suddenly grew softer, and a puzzled look came to his face. He passed his hand across his forehead; shook his head, as if to throw off some painful idea; looked again; then cried, in a surprised voice that sounded half-timid, the tone of one who had fallen, but not beneath all sense of shame—of one doubtful whether his old friend will acknowledge him.
"Why! Duncan! Duncan! Is that you?"
The doctor started—stared at him, evidently puzzled, and not recognizing the man who addressed him.
The drunken man continued, in melancholy tones: "Am I so altered as all that, then? Why, don't you even remember me?"