s verse not contemptible), and now, recalling to
memory some favourite lines, he asked himself whether he might venture
to write them out and send them to Miss Derwent. Could he leave
England, this time, without confessing himself to her? Faint heart--he
mused over the proverb. The thought of a laboured letter repelled him,
and perhaps her reply--if she replied at all--would be a blow scarce
endurable. In the offer of a copy of verses there is no undue
presumption; it is a consecrated form of homage; it demands no
immediate response. But were they good enough, these rhymes of his?--He
would decide to-morrow, his last day.

And as was his habit, he read a little before sleeping, in one of the
half-dozen volumes which he had chosen for this journey. It was _Les
Chants du Crepuscule_, and thus the page sang:

"Laisse-toi donc aimer! Car l'amour, c'est la vie,
C'est tout ce qu'on regrette et tout ce qu'on envie
Quand on voit sa jeunesse au couchant decliner.
Sans lui rien n'est complet, sans lui rien ne rayonne.
La beaute c'est le front, l'amour c'est la couronne.
Laisse-toi couronner!"

His own lines sounded a sad jingle; he grew ashamed of them, and in the
weariness of his passions he fell asleep.

He had left till to-morrow the visit he owed to John Jacks. It was not
pleasant, the thought of calling at the house at Queen's Gate; Mrs.
Jacks might have heard strange things about him on that mad evening
three years ago. Yet in decency he must go; perhaps, too, in
self-interest. And at the wonted hour he went.

Fortunately; for John Jacks seemed unfeignedly glad to see him, and
talked with him in private for half an hour after the observances of
the drawing-room, where Mrs. Jacks had been very sweetly proper and
properly sweet. In the library, much more at his ease, Otway told what
he had before him, all the details of his commercial project.

"It occurs to me," said John Jacks--who was looking far from well, and
at times spoke with an effort--"that I may be able to be of some use in
this matter. I'll think about it, and--leave me your address--I shall
probably write to you. And now tell me all about your father. He is
hale and hearty?"

"In excellent health, I think," Piers replied cheerfully. "Dante
suffices him still."

"Odd that you should have come to-day. I don't know why, I was thinking
of your father all last night--I don't sleep very well just now. I
thought of the old days, a lifetime ago