the till. Then Jerry Pollard came from behind
the counter and slapped Nicholas upon the shoulder.

"Hello, my boy!" he said. "So your pa has taken me at my word, and here
you are. Well, Jerry Pollard's word's his bond, and he ain't going back
on it. So, when you feel like it, you can step right in and get to
business. When'll you begin? To-day? No time like the present time's my
motto."

"To-morrow!" returned Nicholas hastily. "I've got some things to wind
up. I'll come to-morrow."

"All right. I'm your man. To-morrow at seven sharp?"

Then a purchaser appeared, and Jerry Pollard went forward, his business
smile returning to his face.

The purchaser was Mrs. Burwell, and, as Nicholas passed out, she looked
up from a pair of waffle-irons she was selecting and nodded pleasantly.

"I am glad to see you, Nicholas," she said. "Juliet was asking after you
in her last letter. You were always a favourite of Juliet's. I was
telling Mr. Burwell so only last night."

"She was very kind," returned Nicholas, and added: "Is Miss Juliet--Mrs.
Galt well?"

Juliet Burwell had married five years before, and he had not seen her
since.

Mrs. Burwell nodded cheerily. She was still fresh and youthful, her pink
cheeks and bright eyes giving the gray of her hair the effect of powder
sprinkled on her brown fringe.

"Yes, Juliet is well," she answered. "They are living in Richmond now.
Mr. Galt had to give up his practice in New York because the climate did
not suit Juliet's health. I told him she couldn't stand transplanting to
the north, and I was right. They had to move south again. Yes, Mr.
Pollard, the middle-size irons, please. I think they'll fit my stove. If
they don't, I'll exchange them for the small ones. What did you say,
Nicholas? Oh! good-morning."

She turned away, and Nicholas stepped over her dripping umbrella and
went out into the rain.

When he was once outside he shook the water from his shoulders and
walked rapidly in the direction of the old brick court-house, isolated
upon the larger green. The door and windows were closed, but he ascended
the stone steps and stood beneath the portico, looking back upon the way
that he had come.

The street was deserted, save for a solitary ox-cart rolling heavily
through the mud. In the distance the gray drops made a sombre veil,
through which the foliage of King's College showed in a blurred
discolouration. From the branches of trees a double fall of water
descended