many lives are in this way ruined. Then your father was also unfortunate enough to contract rheumatism when he was camping out in the jungle last year, and this is increasing on him very much, so that his life is almost intolerable to him, and he naturally flies for relief to his greatest enemy, drink. At all costs, however, you must keep him from stimulants; they will only intensify the disease and the sufferings, in fact they are poison to a man in such a state. Don't think I am a bigot in these matters; but I say that for a man in such a condition as this, there is nothing for it but total abstinence, and at all costs your father must be guarded from the possibility of procuring any sort of intoxicating drink. Throughout the voyage I have done my best to shield him, but it was a difficult matter. His servant, too, is not trustworthy, and should be dismissed if possible."

"Had he spoken at all of his plans?" asked Derrick, and his voice sounded strangely unlike itself.

"He asked me what place in England he had better settle down in," said the doctor, "and I strongly recommended him to try Bath. This seemed to please him, and if he is well enough he had better go there to-morrow. He mentioned your mother this morning; no doubt she will know how to manage him."

"My mother died six months ago," said Derrick, pushing back his chair and beginning to pace the room. The doctor made kindly apologies.

"Perhaps you have a sister, who could go to him?"

"No," replied Derrick. "My only sister is married, and her husband would never allow it."

"Or a cousin or an aunt?" suggested the old man, naively unconscious that the words sounded like a quotation.

I saw the ghost of a smile flit over Derrick's harassed face as he shook his head.

"I suggested that he should go into some Home for—cases of the kind," resumed the doctor, "or place himself under the charge of some medical man; however, he won't hear of such a thing. But if he is left to himself—well, it is all up with him. He will drink himself to death in a few months."

"He shall not be left alone," said Derrick; "I will live with him. Do you think I should do? It seems to be Hobson's choice."

I looked up in amazement—for here was Derrick calmly giving himself up to a life that must crush every plan for the future he had made. Did men make such a choice as that while they took two or three turns in a room? Did they speak so composedly after a struggle that must have been so bitter? Thinking it over now, I feel sure it was his extraordinary gift of insight and his clear judgment which made him behave in this way. He instantly perceived and promptly acted; the worst of the suffering came long after.

"Why, of course you are the very best person in the world for him," said the doctor. "He has taken a fancy to you, and evidently you have a certain influence with him. If any one can save him it will be you."

But the thought of allowing Derrick to be sacrificed to that old brute of a Major was more than I could bear calmly.

"A more mad scheme was never proposed," I cried. "Why, doctor, it will be utter ruin to my friend's career; he will lose years that no one can ever make up. And besides, he is unfit for such a strain, he will never stand it."

My heart felt hot as I thought of Derrick, with his highly-strung, sensitive nature, his refinement, his gentleness, in constant companionship with such a man as Major Vaughan.

"My dear sir," said the old doctor, with a gleam in his eye, "I understand your feeling well enough. But depend upon it, your friend has made the right choice, and there is no doubt that he'll be strong enough to do his duty."

The word reminded me of the Major's song, and my voice was abominably sarcastic in tone as I said to Derrick, "You no longer consider writing your duty then?"

"Yes," he said, "but it must stand second to this. Don't be vexed, Sydney; our plans are knocked on the head, but it is not so bad as you make out. I have at any rate enough to live on, and can afford to wait."

There was no more to be said, and the next day I saw that strange trio set out on their road to Bath. The Major looking more wicked when sober than he had done when drunk; the old doctor kindly and considerate as ever; and Derrick, with an air of resolution about that English face of his and a dauntless expression in his eyes which impressed me curiously.

These quiet, reserved fellows are always giving one odd surprises. He had astonished me by the vigour and depth of the first volume of 'Lynwood's Heritage.' He astonished me now by a new phase in his own character. Apparently he who had always been content to follow where I led, and to watch life rather than to take an active share in it, now intended to strike out a very decided line of his own.