swer meet for a poet!

Whither?--Whither?--The dark eyes in the pale cameo face turned
skyward--the eyes of him who had declared himself to be a deep
worshipper of all beauty grew more dreamy. Whither, indeed, but to the
end of the rainbow!

By what "path obscure and lonely," the quest would lead him he knew not,
but he would follow it to the bitter end, for there, perchance, he would
find if not the traditional pot of gold, at least a wreath of laurel.

As he wandered down the street, his eyes still upon the bow, his dream
was suddenly interrupted by the hearty voice of one of his boyhood's
friends, and his sister Rosalie's adopted brother, Jack Mackenzie.

"Hello, Edgar!" he cried. "Did you drop from the clouds? Evidently, for
I see your head is still in them."

He returned the greeting with joy. How good it was to feel the
hand-clasp of friendship and welcome! He had always liked Jack--for the
moment he loved him.

"And where are you bound--you and your bag?" asked Jack. "Not to Mr.
Allan's, for you are going in the wrong direction."

"No," replied The Dreamer, with a whimsical smile. "I was going there,
but I found the door shut, so I changed my mind, and had just decided to
make the end of the rainbow my destination."

Jack's spontaneous laugh rang out. "The same old Edgar!" he said. "Well
I won't interfere with your journey except to defer it a bit. You are
going home with me, to 'Duncan Lodge,' now--at least to supper and spend
the night; and to stay as much longer as pleases you. Rose and the rest
will be delighted to see you."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Where was Edgar Poe? Again the question was being asked. In many
quarters and with varying degrees of interest it was repeated. But it
still remained unanswered.

In Richmond it was asked by the chums of his youth as they sat under
their comfortable vines and fig-trees, or stopped each other on a corner
for a few moments' social chat, or--catching some one of the rumors that
were afloat concerning the gifted companion of their golden days--looked
up from their desks in office or counting-house to ask each other the
question. Their faces were keen with interest for their admiration and
affection for The Dreamer had been sincere; yet it was not strong enough
after the lapse of years to make any one of them lay down work and go
forth to seek a solution of the mystery. Such an errand not one of them
felt to be his business. A quixotic errand it would inde