f since he came from Egypt and joined her
in Rome. Arrived in Venice, Grey's first act was to inquire for letters,
but there was nothing from Rome, nothing from Flossie, who had promised
him to write. They were too busy with their preparations for taking
Bessie home. They must be on their way by this time, he thought, and
with a heavy heart he journeyed on from Venice until Vienna was reached,
and there, at the Hotel Metropole, he found Jack Trevellian's name
registered. It would be a relief to talk to him, Grey thought. He had
known Bessie, too; and Grey must speak to some one of the sorrow
weighing so heavily upon him, or the burden would break him down.

That night in Jack Trevellian's room two young men sat opposite each
other with only a small table between them, and on it a single wax
candle, which threw a faint, glimmering light upon the white faces which
looked so sadly at each other, as in dumb silence the two sat motionless
for a few moments after Grey had told his news.

"What is it, old fellow?" Jack had said, cheerily, as, after expressing
his joy and surprise at meeting his friend so unexpectedly, and
motioning him to a seat, he noticed the care-worn look upon his face and
the set expression upon his mouth. "What makes you look so like a
grave-yard? Crossed in love, hey? I thought it would come to that
sometime, and knew you would be hard hit when hit at all. Tell me about
it, do! Maybe I, too, know how it feels," and Jack laughed a little
meaning laugh as he remembered the time when Bessie's blue eyes had
looked at him and Bessie's voice had said, "I cannot be your wife."

"Hush, Jack!" and Grey put up his hand deprecatingly. "You don't know
how you hurt me. Bessie is dead!"

"Dead! Bessie dead! Oh, Grey!" and Jack nearly leaped from his chair in
his first surprise and horror; then he sat down again, and there was
silence between the two for a moment, when he said, in a voice Grey
would never have known as his: "When did she die? Tell me all about it,
please, but tell it very slowly, word by word, or I shall not understand
you. I seem to be terribly unstrung, it is so sudden and awful. Bessie
dead!" and he stared at Grey with eyes which did not seem to see
anything before them, but rather to be looking at something far away in
the past.

And Grey, who was regarding him curiously, knew that mere friendship,
however strong, never wore such semblance of grief as this, and there
flashed upon him the conv