last, "if you must go, you must. When do you start?"

"I 've arranged with a man to carry my things to the early train. I
think it better not to say good-bye. I 've written a letter instead;
here it is. I left it open for you to read if you should wish,"

"Then," said Shelton, with a curious mingling of relief, regret,
good-will, "I sha'n't see you again?"

Ferrand gave his hand a stealthy rub, and held it out.

"I shall never forget what you have done for me," he said.

"Mind you write," said Shelton.

"Yes, yes"--the, vagrant's face was oddly twisted--"you don't know what a
difference it makes to have a correspondent; it gives one courage. I
hope to remain a long time in correspondence with you."

"I dare say you do," thought Shelton grimly, with a certain queer
emotion.

"You will do me the justice to remember that I have never asked you for
anything," said Ferrand. "Thank you a thousand times. Good-bye!"

He again wrung his patron's hand in his damp grasp, and, going out, left
Shelton with an odd sensation in his throat. "You will do me the justice
to remember that I have never asked you for anything." The phrase seemed
strange, and his mind flew back over all this queer acquaintanceship. It
was a fact: from the beginning to the end the youth had never really
asked for anything. Shelton sat down on his bed, and began to read the
letter in his hand. It was in French.

DEAR MADAME (it ran),

It will be insupportable to me, after your kindness, if you take me for
ungrateful. Unfortunately, a crisis has arrived which plunges me into
the necessity of leaving your hospitality. In all lives, as you are well
aware, there arise occasions that one cannot govern, and I know that you
will pardon me that I enter into no explanation on an event which gives
me great chagrin, and, above all, renders me subject to an imputation of
ingratitude, which, believe me, dear Madame, by no means lies in my
character. I know well enough that it is a breach of politeness to leave
you without in person conveying the expression of my profound
reconnaissance, but if you consider how hard it is for me to be compelled
to abandon all that is so distinguished in domestic life, you will
forgive my weakness. People like me, who have gone through existence
with their eyes open, have remarked that those who are endowed with
riches have a right to look down on such as are not by wealth and
breeding fitted to occupy the same posi