ness. Then, when the little gentleman had been wafted round the corner lazily waving his farewell, Stephen ran up-stairs to his big bare rooms at the top of the house. Big and bare they looked when the sunshine was not in them, but very neat. Stephen could not bear disorder. He was one of those rare men who are light-fingered and who never try to do two things at once. The common man, while his eyes follow his right hand, will with his left grope blindly on a crowded mantelpiece and at the same time send his great foot sprawling to the rear in search of a footstool. But Stephen Aylward was a man who would put down one thing before he touched the other; who disliked all sprawling movements; who held it no waste of time to put things straight; who had even tucked in chintzes with no loss of manliness. books in his room were in fair order. Everything was in its place, and an extraordinary cleanliness bore witness to the fact that the young Englishman was not ashamed to supplement the labours of the Italian housemaid. Even the tools of the painter, which are in their nature untidy, had an air of neatness. After a careful review of his surroundings, Stephen busied himself in making the sittingroom more cheerful. He made a small fire of wood,

The

more for the eye than for heat, though the nights were still rather cold. He cleared one of the tables and covered it with a clean but rough cloth, for to-night he had ordered a supper from the trattoria. There is a magic in the word supper, informal Bohemian fantastic. Friendship, love, wine, wit, folly; and the cheaper the more distracting. A supper in Venice! He sat still and waited. There was no light save the flicker of the fire. He sat still with his faint smile frequent on his lips, musing and remembering. He recalled the early days of his friendship for Philip Lamond, a thousand memories which came back with phantom pictures of old school-buildings and fair elm-trees, the sparkling of summer waters, and with old sweet perfumes more real than pictures. He smiled again at his first amazement at Philip's impulse and craze for confession. How often he had listened, while the other boy poured out all his hopes fears and thoughts, and assured him eagerly once more that he could not speak like that to any one but him. So Stephen sat looking at the flame, mocking himself a little for the freshness of his feelings; but his heart was very tender though he smiled, as he awaited his friend with the blighted hopes. At last the hopeless one arrived.

C

Stephen heard the boatman's cry as he turned out of the Grand Canal, a slight grating of the worn marble steps plainly audible in the still evening air, the moving of luggage, a well-known voice, a well-known step; and there was Philip once more before him. They had never sworn eternal friendship, and they did not rush into each other's arms. “Well, old fellow?" said Stephen rather shyly. Philip was but little hindered by insular shyness. 'Well?" he asked in turn, as he wrung his friend's hand with almost painful intensity, and then, "Have you got anything for me to eat?"

This was reassuring. The new-comer looked remarkably well. There was no grey visible in his thick brown hair; there was colour in his sunburnt cheeks; he looked stout and strong; and he was evidently hungry. The fire was stirred to greater brightness; the burnished lamp was lit, a pair of extra candles were brought forth in honour of the guest. Then supper came, and Philip began to eat and drink and to laugh at his friend. "Neat housewife as ever," he said. Then he went back, as he was apt to do at a new meeting, to early days, revived old jokes and young laughter, summoned former friends each with some well-worn characteristic anecdote, asked questions and did not wait for

the answers. Philip had journeyed with all possible speed from England, and seemed to have shaken off his troubles by the way.

"Stephen, do you remember when I first knew you, a little prim-faced fastidious wretch? Why I liked you will always remain a mystery."

"I was somebody to pour confidences into," said Stephen, who disliked to be the subject of conversation. "You were always nearly suffocated by your own plans and feelings."

"I suppose I was like that then.”

"Then!" exclaimed Stephen softly, and smiled. "I suppose I was rather a frantic animal. Do you remember "-and straightway he was launched once more on the flood of his young experiences.

It was an intense pleasure to pour out once more all his thoughts and feelings to his chosen friendthe friend who had always charmed and irritated him by his reserve. He drank the light Italian wine, stirred the old log to sparks with his boot, and talked and laughed, forgetful of his broken heart. Venice and friendship were enough for him that night. Without were crowding memories, innumerable possibilities, and all the beauties of the passing hour; within was the best friend in the world. His feelings were at last too much for mere

speech, and his pleasant barytone came to his relief. As he sang the verse of an old song, he got up, strolled to the window, and opened it. His voice sank to silence before the witchery of the hour. The little balcony was high up in the air; common crowded roofs and peaks and bits of wall and quaint flower-like chimneys were bathed in one wide moonlight—a fairy city amid mysterious shadows, born of air and water. Philip gave a great sigh, and as he sighed remembered his sorrow. He felt the need of love which had been denied him. He pitied himself that he must do without this good thing. There were tears in his eyes as at last he turned from the window; but he smiled as he saw that Stephen had fallen peacefully asleep with his feet outstretched to the woodfire.

After a few days of close companionship Stephen arrived at the conclusion that his friend was certainly more melancholy than he ought to be. To the world at large Mr Lamond had always seemed incapable of melancholy; but it might be more truly said that he was melancholy every other minute. Light and shade flicker and glimmer and melt together under a beech-tree in summer, but the whole effect is happy. But heretofore Philip had never