a smile.

"My greatest difficulty of all," said Harcourt, "will be to meet
Glencore again after this. I know--I feel--I never can forgive him."

"Perhaps he will not ask forgiveness, Harcourt," said the other, with
one of his slyest of looks. "Glencore is a strange, self-opinionated
fellow, and has amongst other odd notions that of going the road he
likes best himself. Besides, there is another consideration here, and
with no man will it weigh more than with yourself. Glencore has been
dangerously ill,--at this moment we can scarcely say that he has
recovered; his state is yet one of anxiety and doubt. You are the last
who would forget such infirmity; nor is it necessary to secure your pity
that I should say how seriously the poor fellow is now suffering."

"I trust he'll not speak to me about this business," said Harcourt,
after a pause.

"Very probably he will not. He will know that I have already told you
everything, so that there will be no need of any communication from
him."

"I wish from my heart and soul I had never come here. I would to Heaven
I had gone away at once, as I first intended. I like that boy; I feel he
has fine stuff in him; and now--"

"Come, come, Harcourt, it's the fault of all soft-hearted fellows, like
yourself, that their kindliness degenerates into selfishness, and they
have such a regard for their own feelings that they never agree to
anything that wounds them. Just remember that you and I have very small
parts in this drama, and the best way we can do is to fill them without
giving ourselves the airs of chief characters."

"You're at your old game, Upton; you are always ready to wet yourself,
provided you give another fellow a ducking."

"Only if he get a worse one, or take longer to dry after it," remarked
Upton, laughing.

"Quite true, by Jove!" chimed in the other; "you take special care
to come off best. And now you 're going," added he, as Upton rose to
withdraw, "and I'm certain that I have not half comprehended what you
want from me."

"You shall have it in writing, Harcourt; I'll send you a clear despatch
the first spare moment I can command after I reach town. The boy will
not be fit to move for some time to come, and so good-bye."

"You don't know where they are going to send you?"

"I cannot frame even a conjecture," sighed Upton, languidly. "I ought to
be in the Brazils for a week or so about that slave question; and then
the sooner I reach Constantinople the bet