Barret did not reply, but the light soon revealed Ned’s disreputable figure half sprawling on and half clinging to the table.
“Surely this is not your chum, John?” asked Fred in surprise.
“Yes, that’s him,” answered Barret in a low sad voice. “Help me to get him into bed, like a good fellow.”
Without a word the young men raised the drunken figure in their arms, and laid it like some loathsome object on one of the beds in the adjoining room.
“How can you stay with him?” asked Auberly, after they had returned to the other room and seated themselves at the fire.
“He is an old schoolfellow of mine,” said Barret in a low voice. “I’m sorry you’ve seen him in this state. He was a very different fellow once, I assure you; and if it were not for that accursed drink he would be as pleasant a companion as exists. You know I have no friends in London save yourself, Fred, and this young fellow.—I came to stay with him at first, not knowing his character, and now I remain to try to—to—save him; but I fear his case is hopeless. Come, Fred, we won’t talk of it. You were saying, as we came along, that your father is sterner than ever, were you not?”
“Ay,” said Fred, with a sigh, “he won’t even let me call to see my sister too—that’s the worst of it. For the rest I care not; my brush has sustained me hitherto, and my love for my profession increases every hour. I feel towards it, John, as a man may be supposed to feel towards the sweet, young girl whom wicked guardians had for a long time refused to let him wed. Nothing but death shall separate us now!”
Barret smiled, and was about to make some rejoinder, but he checked himself and changed the subject.
“How is your sister?” said he, “I have not heard of her for a long time.”
“Not well,” answered Fred; “the doctors shake their heads and speak of the shock having been too much for her. Dear Loo, she never was strong, and I’m afraid that she has received fatal injury on the night of the fire. I’m told that my poor father is sadly cut up about her—attends on her night and day, and humours her every whim. This is so unlike him that it fills me with anxiety on account of dear Loo, whom I have not seen since I went to live at Kensington.”