his senses the two carriages were drawn up side by side
and he was shaking hands with Grey through the window.

"So glad I happened to meet you," Grey said. "I wanted to say good-by,
for I am off for America."

"America!" Neil repeated, and his lower jaw dropped suddenly, as if he
had been seized with paralysis.

"Yes," Grey rejoined. "I sail in the Germanic with my Aunt Lucy. She
came down to Liverpool yesterday with some friends. I shall find her at
the wharf. I have just arrived in the train from Chester. I was only in
London for a day, but I called at your house to see you, and learned
that you were out of town, so I left a little note for you. Neil"--and
Grey spoke very low, as we do when we speak of the dead--"I have been in
Prussia, Austria, and Russia since I left Italy, but I know I ought to
have written and told you how sorry I was for--for what happened in
Rome. If it had not been for my aunt, I believe I should have gone back
and helped you. I--"

Here Grey stopped, for since his interview with Jack Trevellian he had
never mentioned Bessie's name to any one, and he could not do so now
even to Neil, who, having no idea of the mistake under which Grey was
laboring, and supposing he, of course, was referring to Daisy, replied
with an indifference which made Grey's flesh creep:

"Yes, thanks; they told me how kind you were, and I ought to have
written you, but I had so much to see to. I trust I may never go through
the like again. Those landlords are perfect swindlers, the whole of
them, and ought to be indicted."

He spoke excitedly, and Grey gazed at him in blank astonishment. Was he
perfectly heartless that he could speak thus of an event, the mere
remembrance of which made Grey's heart throb with anguish? Had he really
no abiding love for Bessie, that he could speak thus of the trouble and
expense her death had caused him? Grey could not tell, but he was never
as near hating Neil McPherson, as he was that moment, and he felt a
greater desire to thrash him than he had done at Melrose when the
star-spangled banner was insulted.

He could not pursue the subject further, and he changed the conversation
by speaking of Jack Trevellian, from whom he had not heard since he left
him in Vienna, weeks before.

"I have written to him," he said, "but have received no answer. I have
also written to Miss Meredith, with a like result, and conclude I have
no friends this side the water, so I am going home."

"You