Max offered no reply to this remark. Angry as he was with Moreas, he felt that he himself was in an invidious position. To all intents and purpose he was the other's servant, and an innate feeling of loyalty, to however unworthy a master, kept him silent.
"If we are to be up as early to-morrow morning as we arranged had we not better begin to think about bed?" said Max at last.
"Perhaps we had. But I am rather afraid the others will not be in a condition after their carouse to-night to travel as soon as we imagine. However, if you are tired, by all means let us turn in."
They walked towards the door. Suddenly Bertram stopped, and, with a little hesitation, addressed his companion once more.
"I want to ask you," he said, "whether you have any objection to telling me the name of your friend; I mean the man who you visited at Gainsthorpe. It's just possible I might know him."
"His name was Beverley," Max replied, without thinking of the trouble to which his answer might possibly give rise.
"Do you mean Dick Beverley, the cross-country man?" said Bertram, after a momentary pause.
"The same," said Max. "Do you know him?"
"I ought to," the other replied, and then, after another display of hesitation, added, "Dick Beverley is my brother. Bertram is only my assumed name."
Max uttered an exclamation, that was partly one of surprise and partly one of pain. "Good heavens! can it be possible that you are Beverley's brother?" he cried. "I can scarcely credit it."