n had set, and the red glow was dying in
the west. They had forgotten time and place, and life and death; they
had forgotten, even, that they were enemies.

"Arthur," Montanelli whispered, "are you real? Have you come back to me
from the dead?"

"From the dead----" the Gadfly repeated, shivering. He was lying with
his head on Montanelli's arm, as a sick child might lie in its mother's
embrace.

"You have come back--you have come back at last!"

The Gadfly sighed heavily. "Yes," he said; "and you have to fight me, or
to kill me."

"Oh, hush, carino! What is all that now? We have been like two children
lost in the dark, mistaking one another for phantoms. Now we have found
each other, and have come out into the light. My poor boy, how changed
you are--how changed you are! You look as if all the ocean of the
world's misery had passed over your head--you that used to be so full of
the joy of life! Arthur, is it really you? I have dreamed so often that
you had come back to me; and then have waked and seen the outer darkness
staring in upon an empty place. How can I know I shall not wake again
and find it all a dream? Give me something tangible--tell me how it all
happened."

"It happened simply enough. I hid on a goods vessel, as stowaway, and
got out to South America."

"And there?"

"There I--lived, if you like to call it so, till--oh, I have seen
something else besides theological seminaries since you used to teach me
philosophy! You say you have dreamed of me--yes, and much! You say you
have dreamed of me--yes, and I of you----"

He broke off, shuddering.

"Once," he began again abruptly, "I was working at a mine in
Ecuador----"

"Not as a miner?"

"No, as a miner's fag--odd-jobbing with the coolies. We had a barrack to
sleep in at the pit's mouth; and one night--I had been ill, the same
as lately, and carrying stones in the blazing sun--I must have got
light-headed, for I saw you come in at the door-way. You were holding a
crucifix like that one on the wall. You were praying, and brushed past
me without turning. I cried out to you to help me--to give me poison
or a knife--something to put an end to it all before I went mad. And
you--ah------!"

He drew one hand across his eyes. Montanelli was still clasping the
other.

"I saw in your face that you had heard, but you never looked round;
you went on with your prayers. When you had finished, and kissed the
crucifix, you glanced round and whispered: 'I