r, but he, too, seems
to rise to his full height at times, and there is something in the
carriage and mien that tells that soldier songs have thrilled his veins
ere now. And this man the young traveller in gray watches as though his
eyes were fascinated. Standing in the shade of a little summer-house, he
never ceases his scrutiny of the group.

At last the musicians go, and the people follow. The sands are soon
deserted; the great piazzas are emptied of their promenaders; the halls
and corridors are still patronized by the few belated chaperons and
their giddy charges. The music-loving girl has gone aloft to her room,
and her aunt, the third member of the group that so chained the
attention of the young map in gray, lingers for a moment to exchange a
few words with their cavalier. He seems in need of consolation.

"Don't be, so down-hearted, Mr. Van Antwerp. It is very early in the
summer, and you have the whole season before you."

"No, Mrs. Rayner: it is very different from last year. I cannot explain
it, but I know there has been a change. I feel as--as I used to in my
old, wild days when a change of luck was coming. It's like the gambler's
superstition; but I cannot shake it off. Something told me she was lost
to me when, you boarded that Pacific Express last February. I was a fool
ever to have let her go."

"Is she still so determined?"

"I cannot shake her resolution. She says that at the end of the year's
time originally agreed upon she will keep her promise; but she will
listen to no earlier marriage. I have about given up all hope. Something
again--that fearful something I cannot shake off--tells me that my only
chance lay in getting her to go with me this month. Once abroad with
her, I could make her happy; but--"

He breaks off irresolutely, looking about him in the strange, hunted
manner she has noted once or twice already.

"You are all unstrung, Mr. Van Antwerp. Why not go to bed and try and
sleep? You will be so much brighter to-morrow."

"I cannot sleep. But don't let me keep you. I'll go out and smoke a
cigar. Good-night, Mrs. Rayner. Whatever comes of it all, I shall not
forget your kindness."

So he turns away, and she still stands at the foot of the staircase,
watching him uneasily. He has aged greatly in the past few months. She
is shocked to see how gray, how fitful, nervous, irritable, he has
become. As he moves towards the door-way, she notes how thin his cheek
has grown, and wonders a