ual third-class ticket; and he had seated
himself and dismissed his porter before he bethought himself that the
first-class compartment was now within his means.

Audrey had told him laughingly that such creature comforts were dear to
him--that he was a man who loved the best of things, to whom the loaves
and fishes of bare maintenance were not enough without adding to them
the fine linen and dainty appendages of luxury; and he had not
contradicted her. But, all the same, he knew that he would have been
willing to live in poverty until his life's end if he could only have
kept her beside him.

Happily, the third-class compartment was empty, and he threw himself
back in the farthest corner, and, taking out his Baedeker, began to plan
what he called his summer's campaign--a tour he was projecting through
Holland and Belgium, and which was to land him finally in the Austrian
Tyrol. He would work his way later to Rome and Florence and Venice, and
he would keep Norway for the following year; and he would travel about
in the desultory, dilettante sort of fashion that suited him best now.
He would probably go to America, and see Niagara and all the wonders of
the New World, that was so young and fresh in its immensity. Indeed, he
would go anywhere and everywhere, until his trouble became a thing of
the past, and he had strength to live and work for the good of his
fellow-creatures; but he felt that such work was not possible to him
just yet.

Michael studied his Baedeker in a steady business-like way. He had made
up his mind that to brood over an irreparable misfortune was unworthy of
any man who acknowledged himself a Christian--that any such indulgence
would weaken his moral character and make him unfit for his duties in
life. The sorrow was there, but there was no need to be ever staring it
in the face; as far as was possible, he would put it from him, and do
the best for himself and others.

Michael's stubborn tenacity of purpose brought its own reward, for he
was soon so absorbed in mapping out his route that he was quite startled
at hearing the porters shouting 'Warnborough!' and the next moment the
door was flung open, and a shabbily-dressed man, with the gait and
bearing of a soldier, entered the compartment, and, taking the opposite
corner to Michael, unfolded his paper and began to read.

Michael glanced at him carelessly. He was rather a good-looking man, he
thought, with his closely-cropped gray hair and black