nda del Norte. It was also too late now
to hunt them up, and too late to hope to see Katie. That must be
postponed till the morrow.

Ashby was beginning to feel more melancholy than ever in his life
before, when suddenly he was roused by a loud exclamation.

"Well, by Jove! Halloo, old boy! Ashby himself, by all that's
wonderful!"

At this Ashby looked up, and the next instant he was heartily
wringing the hand of the new-comer.

"Rivers! Harry Rivers! How are you, my boy? and where in the world
did you come from?"

"By Jove! do you know, old fellow," said Harry Rivers, "I call this
no end of a piece of good luck? I've been bored to death at Burgos.
But come along to my rooms and give an account of yourself."

The two friends then went off, and soon were comfortably seated in
the rooms of Harry Rivers, with some flasks of wine and Havanas to
help along the evening hours.

Harry Rivers was of about the same age as Ashby, but totally
different in appearance. He was of medium height, very well knit in
his frame, and very well dressed. His hair was crisp and curling; his
brow broad and open; his eyes full of light, and life, and
volatility. He had a small mustache, but no beard or whiskers, and
his laughing eyes, with his smooth face and winning smile, gave him a
most engaging appearance. In short, Harry Rivers was one of those
rare good fellows who make friends wherever they go; who take the
world into their confidence; who insist on making every one familiar
with their varying fortunes; and carry about with them a perpetual
atmosphere of joyousness and breezy cheerfulness.

"Well, old chap," said Harry, as they sat enjoying their cigars and
wine, "I haven't seen you or heard of you since you left Barcelona.
How did you get on with your business in Italy? What made you turn up
in this queer way at Burgos? This isn't the sort of place that I'd
expect to find a friend in."

"I'm on my way to Bayonne just now," said Ashby, "and I stopped
here--because the train stopped."

"Bayonne isn't a bad place," said Harry; "I spent a week there
once--good wine, but bad tobacco and infernal cigars. Here we have
good cigars and bad wine. Do you know, old chap, I don't dote on any
of the Spanish wines--do you? At the same time, I drink your very
good health, together with future prosperity and good luck in your
present undertaking, whatever that may be."

"Thanks," said Ashby, "and the same to you."

"Look here, old chap,"