"I don't think he's coming back at all!" I say, nodding, "he has been gone such a long, long time, you know—weeks!"
"Paul always keeps his word," says Mr. Frere. "He is sure to come back. Besides, he left all his things here." That is conclusive, for however heartbroken a man may be, he does not usually forget his dressing-case and his little comforts.
"The ground is good for walking just now," says Mr. Frere. "I dare say he has got as far as Devonshire."
Yes, the ground is good for walking, but I think all roads are pretty much alike to him just now. As I sit staring into the fire, I seem to see Mr. Vasher walking swift and fast, trying to escape from his restless thoughts: trying to quench a flame that will not be put out. Pshaw! Probabiy I see a myth and a fallacy, and at this very moment he is dancing a jig or———
"Are you asleep?" asks a cheerful voice behind me.
"You have come back!" I cry, starting up; how glad I am. We were beginning to think you were lost!"
As the firelight falls on his face, I see that it is pale and worn as that of a man who has fought a battle against fierce odds, and though wounded and hard pressed in the conflict—won.
"Where is my uncle?" he says, looking round.
"He was here a minute ago, but Mrs. Pim fetched him to go to Sally Lane, who says she is dying."
"I wonder how long she will be about it?"
"She has been dying for twenty years," I say, laughing, "and she will probably be dying for twenty more! Dying with her means port."
"Does my uncle give her a bottle to soothe her last moments?"
"Always! About once a month, you know; and she is far too careful a body to go off until she has drunk the last drop; then the thought of the next bottle supports her."
Mr. Vasher laughs. "Do you know," he says, "that I have
