ompany him to the retreat of his Order, he
had no thought other than to offer Paul the change of scene which alone
might help to tide the youth over the first crushing pangs of
bereavement.

"Give me a week or two of your time," pleaded the good priest--"and I
will introduce you to a course of life such as you have never known; it
should interest and perhaps benefit you; possibly you may find it
delightful. At any rate you must be hastened out of the morbid mood
which now possesses you, even if we have to drag you by force."

So Paul went with him, suddenly and in a kind of desperation: his visit
was prolonged from day to day, until some weeks had passed. Peace was
returning to him--peace such as he had never known before.

* * * * *

Meanwhile certain of the young poet's friends had called to see him at
the Eyrie, and to their amazement found his rooms deserted; in the
staring bay window with the inner blinds thrown wide open was notice "To
Let." His landlady knew nothing of his whereabouts. He had said good-bye
to no one. His disappearance was perhaps the most mysterious of
mysterious disappearances!

* * * * *

Now, what really happened was this. Having packed everything he valued
and seen it safely stored, he settled with his landlady and went down to
the Club. It was his P.P.C., though no one there suspected it, and with
just a touch of sentiment--he walked through the rooms alone; he saw at
a glance that the usual habitues of the place were employing themselves
in the same old way. Though he had not been there often of late, no one
seemed much surprised to see him; he passed through the suite of rooms
without addressing himself to any one in particular; a glance of
recognition here and there; a smile, a slight nod, now and again, this
was all. Having made the rounds he returned to the cloak-room, took his
hat and cane and departed.

From that hour dated his disappearance. From that hour the Eyrie saw him
no more forever.

* * * * *

IV.

BY THE WORLD FORGOT

For a long while he had been listening to the moan of the sea--the wail
and the warning that rise from every reef in that wild waste of waters.
There was no moon, but the large stars cast each a wake upon the wave,
and the distant surf-lines were faintly illuminated by a phosphorescent
glow.

There were reefs on every hand, and treacherous curre