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"Do you particularly like the man?" he muttered, at his own

image; "why should you particularly like a man who resembles you?

There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you!

What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking

to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and

what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you

have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and

commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have

it out in plain words! You hate the fellow."

He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in

a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair

straggling over the table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle

dripping down upon him.

CHAPTER V. The Jackal