uty of the spot refreshed
these pilgrims, and they rested in calm enjoyment.

Helen was the first to break the silence.

"I am glad you have brought me here," she said; "I shall never grumble
now at not being able to afford a fortnight in the country. This is
better than anything else."

"It has always been my summer holiday to come here," he said. "When
I first came I was like you, young and hopeful, and I had wonderful
visions of what I intended to do and to be. Here it was I made a vow
that I would become a great painter, and win for myself a resting place
in this very abbey. There is humour in the situation, is there not?"

"I don't like to hear you say that," she answered. "It is not always
possible for us to fulfil all our ambitions. Still, it is better to have
had them, and failed of them, than not to have had them at all."

"Possibly," he replied, coldly. Then he added, "I wish you would tell me
about yourself. You have always interested me."

"I have nothing to tell you about myself," she answered, frankly. "I am
alone in the world, without friends and without relations. The very name
I use is not a real name. I was a foundling. At times I am sorry I do
not belong to any one, and at other times I am glad. You know I am fond
of books and of art, so my life is not altogether empty; and I find my
pleasure in hard work. When I saw you at the gallery I wished to know
you, and I asked one of the students who you were. He told me you were
a misanthrope. Then I did not care so much about knowing you, until one
day you spoke to me about my painting, and that was the beginning of our
friendship."

"Forty years ago," he said, sadly, "the friend of my boyhood deceived
me. I had not thought it possible that he could be false to me. He
screened himself behind me, and became prosperous and respected at the
expense of my honour. I vowed I would never again make a friend. A few
years later, when I was beginning to hold up my head, the woman whom
I loved deceived me. Then I put from me all affection and all love.
Greater natures than mine are better able to bear these troubles, but my
heart contracted and withered up."

He paused for a moment, many recollections overpowering him. Then he
went on telling her the history of his life, unfolding to her the story
of his hopes and ambitions, describing to her the very home where he was
born, and the dark-eyed sister whom he had loved, and with whom he had
played over the dais