omething strange in his
manner that morning. She did not know what it was, but had she held any
clew to his thoughts she would have perceived that Bertie was astonished
and bewildered. He looked as if a dream had suddenly become a reality, as
if a jest had turned into marvellous earnest. He smoked his pipe, leaning
by the open window, with a serious and almost awestruck expression in his
eyes. One might have fancied that he was transformed visibly to himself,
and was perplexed to find that the change was invisible to others. Judith
could not understand this quiet gravity.

She came up to him and laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder. He did
not turn, but pointed with the stem of his pipe across the street. "Look!"
he said. "There's a bit of houseleek on those tiles. I never saw it till
to-day."

"Nor I."

"It looks green and pleasant," said Bertie in a gentle, meditative voice.
"I like it."

"Our summer garden," Judith suggested.

"I wonder if there's any houseleek on our roof?" he went on after a
moment.

"We will hope so, for our neighbors' sake," said his sister. "It's a new
idea to me. I thought our roof was nothing but tiles and cats--principally
cats."

Bertie smoked his pipe, and surveyed the houseleek as if it were a
newly-discovered star. Everything was strange and wonderful that morning.
Vague ideas floated in the atmosphere, half seen against the background of
common things. The mood, born of exceptional circumstances, was unique in
his life. Had it been habitual, there would have been hope of a new poet,
or, since his taste lay in the direction of wordless harmony, of a great
musician.

"You won't be late at the square, Bertie dear?" said Judith.

"No, I'll not be late," he answered absently. He felt that the pale gold
of the April sunlight was beautiful even in Bellevue street.

"The last lesson," she said. Bertie, suddenly roused, looked round at her
with startled eyes. "What! had you forgotten that the girls go home
to-morrow?" cried Judith in great surprise. She had counted the days so
often.

He laughed shortly and uneasily: "I suppose I had. Queer, wasn't it? Yes,
it's my last lesson, as you say. If I had only thought of it, I might have
composed a Lament, taught it to all my pupils, and charged a fancy price
for it in the bill."

"That would have been very touching. A little tiresome to you perhaps, and
to Miss Crawford--"

"Bless you! she's always asleep," said Bertie, knocking