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.