haughtiness I had once seen and hated.
Set high on her hair was a curving, green hat with a feather, ill-suited
to the wilderness.

I looked on the man. He was as ill-equipped as she. A London tailor
must have cut his suit of gray. A single band of linen, soiled by the
journey, was wound about his throat, and I remember oddly the
buttons stuck on his knees and cuffs, and these silk-embroidered in a
criss-cross pattern of lighter gray. Some had been torn off. As for his
face, 'twas as handsome as ever, for dissipation sat well upon it.

My thoughts flew back to that day long gone when a friendless boy rode
up a long drive to a pillared mansion. I saw again the picture. The
horse with the craning neck, the liveried servant at the bridle,
the listless young gentleman with the shiny boots reclining on the
horse-block, and above him, under the portico, the grand lady whose
laugh had made me sad. And I remembered, too, the wild, neglected lad
who had been to me as a brother, warm-hearted and generous, who had
shared what he had with a foundling, who had wept with me in my first
great sorrow. Where was he?

For I was face to face once more with Mrs. Temple and Mr. Harry Riddle!

The lady started as she gazed at me, and her tired eyes widened. She
clutched Mr. Riddle's arm.

"Harry!" she cried, "Harry, he puts me in mind of--of some one--I cannot
think."

Mr. Riddle laughed nervously.

"There, there, Sally," says he, "all brats resemble somebody. I have
heard you say so a dozen times."

She turned upon him an appealing glance.

"Oh!" she said, with a little catch of her breath, "is there no such
thing as oblivion? Is there a place in the world that is not haunted? I
am cursed with memory."

"Or the lack of it," answered Mr. Riddle, pulling out a silver snuff-box
from his pocket and staring at it ruefully. "Damme, the snuff I fetched
from Paris is gone, all but a pinch. Here is a real tragedy."

"It was the same in Rome," the lady continued, unheeding, "when we met
the Izards, and at Venice that nasty Colonel Tarleton saw us at the
opera. In London we must needs run into the Manners from Maryland. In
Paris--"

"In Paris we were safe enough," Mr. Riddle threw in hastily.

"And why?" she flashed back at him.

He did not answer that.

"A truce with your fancies, madam," said he. "Behold a soul of good
nature! I have followed you through half the civilized countries of
the globe--none of them are good enough. Yo