g Attick, flattened my nose
against a pane. A pain was the immediate result, for, the glass being
intensely cold, I was obliged to draw back promptly.

Lumley was seated alone at one side of the fire, in the familiar
attitude of a man who meditates profoundly--or sleepily; namely, with
his legs stretched straight out in front of him, his hands deep in his
trousers-pockets, and his chin sunk on his breast, while his eyes stared
fixedly at the flames.

I was about to quit my post of observation when a sudden action of my
friend arrested me.

Drawing up his legs, grasping his knees with his hands, turning his eyes
to the ceiling with that gaze which implies that planks and roof count
for nothing in the way of intercepting the flight of Mind to the realms
of Inspiration, Lumley opened his handsome mouth and broke forth into
song. He had a magnificently harsh voice. I could distinguish both air
and words through the double windows. The song was that which I have
already quoted elsewhere--"Lovely young Jessie, the flower of Dunblane."
The deep pathos of his tone was thrilling! It flashed a new thought
into my brain. Then I became amazed at my own blind stupidity. I now
understood the meaning of that restless activity which had struck me
recently as being so uncharacteristic of my sedate friend; that anxiety
to have all our food well cooked and nicely served, in one who
habitually took food just as it came, and cared nothing for quality or
appearance; that unusual effort to keep our hall neat and in order;
those sharp reproofs to the astonished Salamander for failure in
punctuality at meal-hours; that very slight indication of a more
frequent use of the brush and comb, in one whose crisp curls required
little aid from such implements.

Under the excitement of my discovery I burst into the room with, "Oh!
Lumley, you deceiver!" cutting him short in the very middle of those
repeated "lovely young Jessies" which constitute the very pith and
marrow of the song.

"Why, Max! back already?" cried my friend, starting up with a
slightly-confused look, which confirmed my suspicion, and rattling on at
a pace which was plainly meant to carry me past the subject. "How you
must have walked, to be sure, unless, indeed, you convoyed them only a
short part of the way; but that could not have been the case. It would
have been so unlike your gallant nature, Max--eh? Well, and how did
they get on? Snow not too soft, I hope? Enca