"What makes it worse," he went on desperately, "is that I told the `Relieving Officer' there was nothing else outstanding, when he pulled me through before, and now he'll find out there was. I don't know how the deuce I did it--but, you see, this was such a big thing, and he was so beastly satirical and sneering, that somehow I got in a funk and shirked it. Hang it all, Roland," he broke off in a kind of irritable despair, "it's all very well for you, you see. You're independent of him, and are not driven to do these things; while a poor devil like me-- oh, well!" "My dear fellow, there's not the least necessity for jumping down my throat, I assure you. I wasn't going to offer an opinion on the matter. Nor am I going to lecture you--unless, perhaps, you don't mind my advising you to square this up and have done with it. I'll write you a cheque when we go upstairs." Even while he spoke it flitted across Roland's mind that the time would probably come when, in a pecuniary sense, his own position would be insignificant in comparison with that of his younger brother. Would he have helped him, he wondered, were their positions reversed? But then Hubert was an extravagant young dog, and would in all likelihood go through life in a chronic state of "hard-up." "By Jove, Roland, it's awfully good of you," he cried, in such a tone of genuine relief as to draw that queer smile to his brother's face. "Thanks, awfully. The fact is you've got me out of a deucedly deep hole--and--er--" "How about by-by?" said the other, recovering himself from a stretch and a mighty yawn. "It's waxing late. Better lay hold of that candle, I've got one in my room. Come along, and we'll draw the cheque." Hubert took the hint to say no more about it, but he went to bed with a lighter heart than he had done for many a night. He had that cheque safe in his possession. Wiser thoughts might have prevailed in the morning--his brother might have thought better of it--might have discovered that he couldn't spare the cash--what not? He need not have feared. Whatever his faults, Roland Dorrien was incapable of going back on his word, and had the amount in question reached the limit of his worldly possessions, he would still have parted with it. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. FATHER AND SON. "Do you mind coming this way, Roland?" said the General soon after breakfast the next morning. "Neville writes to say," he went on, closing the library door behind them, "that they are going to give a ball on a large scale on Friday--it's Clara's birthday--and is very anxious for you to go to Ardleigh to-morrow, and stay over it. This is Wednesday, so I suppose you may count upon nearly a week of it up there, to which, I daresay, you won't object," he added, with some significance. "Well, I don't much care about it. I might manage the ball, but the fact is it will be rather inconvenient to go and stay there just now. Besides, I seem to have only just left."