On the other hand, the barrister--who was nervously watching all that passed, and followed every movement with his eyes--raised his head from his elbows, and stared at the other with a savage, insolent manner. Then his expression changed--suddenly grew softer, and a puzzled look came to his face. He passed his hand across his forehead; shook his head, as if to throw off some painful idea; looked again; then cried, in a surprised voice that sounded half-timid, the tone of one who had fallen, but not beneath all sense of shame--of one doubtful whether his old friend will acknowledge him. "Why! Duncan! Duncan! Is that you?" The doctor started--stared at him, evidently puzzled, and not recognizing the man who addressed him. The drunken man continued, in melancholy tones: "Am I so altered as all that, then? Why, don't _you_ even remember me?" The doctor looked at him, and replied, with hesitation: "I do know you. I know your face, but I cannot exactly--." The barrister interrupted him: "I was once your friend, old man--once--long--long ago." He drawled out these words in a maudlin fashion; then, conscious that he was just on the point of weeping, he pulled himself together, and stretched out his hand to seize his glass, but, in doing so, knocked it off the table, and it broke into pieces. "Like that glass, sir," he continued, "like that glass, I'm broken--broken altogether." Then he hung down his head, and laughed to himself in a foolish manner. Suddenly he raised it again, and cried out, in a savage voice: "Duncan! Damn it, man! Don't you know me, or are you going to cut me, like all the rest of them? Eh?" His friend recognized him at last. "Why, it is Hudson!" he exclaimed much shocked at the fearful change that had come over his once intimate friend. "Hudson! my dear old boy, I am so glad to see you again. What has become of you all this time?" "How many years is it since you saw me last, Duncan?" asked the barrister in a sulky voice. "Between three and four years, I think," was the reply. "Don't you think you might have taken the trouble to look your old friend up all that time? Eh?" "So I have," replied the doctor, "several times. But I never found you in. I have written to you too, don't you remember? You never replied to my letters though. I began to think you wanted to cut me, old fellow." "Yes! now I do remember," said his friend sadly. "It's just like me--just like me; and now I turn round and reproach you. I'm an ass, an ungrateful blackguard. Drink, drink--that's what does it, Duncan. It dulls all the good feeling in a man. Look at me! you are my old chum. I get your kind letters and invitations, I never reply to them. I am drunk and chuck them aside. I neglect and quarrel with all my old--my true friends; I have no friends now, a few harpies only around me who drink and laugh with me, as long as my pocket gives out a clinking sound. Forgive me, Duncan." The doctor took a chair and sat down opposite his friend.