of climbing about and rowing; it's taken it out of us a
little."

Thus hospitably adjured, they took their places, and managed to dispose
of an excellent supper. The meal concluded, Duprez helped himself to a
tiny liqueur glass of Chartreuse, as a wind-up to the exertions of the
day, a mild luxury in which the others joined him, with the exception of
Macfarlane, who was wont to declare that a "mon without his whusky was
nae mon at a'," and who, therefore, persisted in burning up his interior
mechanism with alcohol in spite of the doctrines of hygiene, and was now
absorbed in the work of mixing his lemon, sugar, hot water, and
poison--his usual preparation for a night's rest.

Lorimer, usually conversational, watched him in abstracted silence.
Rallied on this morose humor, he rose, shook himself like a retriever,
yawned, and sauntered to the piano that occupied a dim corner of the
saloon, and began to play with that delicate, subtle touch, which,
though it does not always mark the brilliant pianist, distinguishes the
true lover of music, to whose ears a rough thump on the instrument, or a
false note would be most exquisite agony. Lorimer had no pretense to
musical talent; asked, he confessed he could "strum a little," and he
seemed to see the evident wonder and admiration he awakened in the minds
of many to whom such "strumming" as his was infinitely more delightful
than more practiced, finished playing. Just now he seemed undecided,--he
commenced a dainty little prelude of Chopin's, then broke suddenly off,
and wandered into another strain, wild, pleading, pitiful, and
passionate,--a melody so weird and dreamy that even the stolid
Macfarlane paused in his toddy-sipping, and Duprez looked round in some
wonderment.

"_Comme c'est beau, ca!_" he murmured.

Errington said nothing; he recognized the tune as that which Thelma had
sung at her spinning-wheel, and his bold bright eyes grew pensive and
soft, as the picture of the fair face and form rose up again before his
mind. Absorbed in a reverie, he almost started when Lorimer ceased
playing, and said lightly--

"By-bye, boys! I'm off to bed! Phil, don't wake me so abominably early
as you did this morning. If you do, friendship can hold out no
longer--we must part!"

"All right!" laughed Errington good-humoredly, watching his friend as he
sauntered out of the saloon; then seeing Duprez and Macfarlane rise from
the table, he added courteously, "Don't hurry away on Lori