r or two of close association to make you even tolerably well
acquainted again."

"No; the 'talking over' is _tabooed_, and that is why we are going to
travel--to have something else to talk about. You see I am so
unforgiving that I cannot bear to hear Mr. Greyfield's story, and too
magnanimous, notwithstanding, to inflict mine upon him. To put
temptation out of my way, I proposed this European excursion."

"You are commencing a new life," I said. "May it be as happy as your
darkest days were sad. There is one thing you never told me, what became
of Mr. Seabrook."

"I saw his death in a Nevada paper, only a few days ago. He died old,
poor and alone, or so the account ran, in a cabin among the mountains.
'The mills of the gods,' etc., you know?"

"Then I am not to see Mr. Greyfield?"

"O yes; if you will stay until Mr. ---- comes from Portland. I shall be
glad of your presence on that occasion. Mr. Greyfield, you must
understand, is under orders to keep out of the way until that time
arrives. You can be of service to me, if you will stay."

I staid and saw them off to Europe, then went on my way to Lake Tahoe,
to meet other friends; but I have a promise from this strangely reunited
couple, to spend a summer in Oregon, when they return from their
trans-Atlantic tour; at which time I hope to be able to remove from Mrs.
Greyfield's mind the painful impression derived from her former
acquaintance with the city of my adoption.

A CURIOUS INTERVIEW.

Vancouver's Island furnishes some of the finest scenery on the Pacific
Coast; not grandest, perhaps, but quietly charming. Its shores are
indented every here and there with the loveliest of bays and sounds,
forming the most exquisite little harbors to be found anywhere in the
world. The climate of the Island, especially its summer climate, is
delightful. Such bright, bracing airs as come from the sea on one side,
and from the snow-capped mountains of the mainland on the other, are
seldom met with on either hemisphere. Given a July day, a pleasant
companion or two in a crank little boat, whose oars we use to make
silvery interludes in our talk, and I should not envy your sailor on the
Bosphorus.

On such a July day as I am hinting at, our party had idled away the
morning, splashing our way indolently through the blue waters of
Nittinat Sound, the mountains towering behind us, the open sea not far
off; but all around us a shore so emerald green and touched with bi