CHAPTER XXXII.
MY LAST PIPE.
[Illustration] The night of my last smoke drew near without any demonstration on my part or on that of my friends.

I noticed that none of them was now comfortable if left alone with me, and I knew, I cannot tell how, that though they had too much delicacy to refer in my presence to my coming happiness, they often talked of it among themselves.

They smoked hard and looked covertly at me, and had an idea that they were helping me.
They also addressed me in a low voice, and took their seats noiselessly, as if some one were ill in the next room.
"We have a notion," Scrymgeour said, with an effort, on my second night, "that you would rather we did not feast you to-morrow evening ?" "Oh, I want nothing of that kind," I said.
"So I fancied," Jimmy broke in.

"Those things are rather a mockery, but of course if you thought it would help you in any way----" "Or if there is anything else we could do for you," interposed Gilray, "you have only to mention it." Though they irritated rather than soothed me, I was touched by their kindly intentions, for at one time I feared my friends would be sarcastic.

The next night was my last, and I found that they had been looking forward to it with genuine pain.