lodgings, did he suffer
the driver to draw rein.

XII

Towards evening, five days later, Swithin, yellow and travel-worn, was
ferried in a gondola to Danielli's Hotel. His brother, who was on the
steps, looked at him with an apprehensive curiosity.

"Why, it's you!" he mumbled. "So you've got here safe?"

"Safe?" growled Swithin.

James replied, "I thought you wouldn't leave your friends!" Then, with a
jerk of suspicion, "You haven't brought your friends?"

"What friends?" growled Swithin.

James changed the subject. "You don't look the thing," he said.

"Really!" muttered Swithin; "what's that to you?"

He appeared at dinner that night, but fell asleep over his coffee.
Neither Traquair nor James asked him any further question, nor did they
allude to Salzburg; and during the four days which concluded the stay
in Venice Swithin went about with his head up, but his eyes half-closed
like a dazed man. Only after they had taken ship at Genoa did he show
signs of any healthy interest in life, when, finding that a man on board
was perpetually strumming, he locked the piano up and pitched the key
into the sea.

That winter in London he behaved much as usual, but fits of moroseness
would seize on him, during which he was not pleasant to approach.

One evening when he was walking with a friend in Piccadilly, a girl
coming from a side-street accosted him in German. Swithin, after staring
at her in silence for some seconds, handed her a five-pound note, to the
great amazement of his friend; nor could he himself have explained the
meaning of this freak of generosity.

Of Rozsi he never heard again....

This, then, was the substance of what he remembered as he lay ill in
bed. Stretching out his hand he pressed the bell. His valet appeared,
crossing the room like a cat; a Swede, who had been with Swithin many
years; a little man with a dried face and fierce moustache, morbidly
sharp nerves, and a queer devotion to his master.

Swithin made a feeble gesture. "Adolf," he said, "I'm very bad."

"Yes, sir!"

"Why do you stand there like a cow?" asked Swithin; "can't you see I'm
very bad?"

"Yes, sir!" The valet's face twitched as though it masked the dance of
obscure emotions.

"I shall feel better after dinner. What time is it?"

"Five o'clock."

"I thought it was more. The afternoons are very long."

"Yes, sir!" Swithin sighed, as though he had expected the consolation of
denial.

"Very likely I shall