of
epic and idyll, warming through worship to desire. Then his look
strayed to the next engraving; a peasant girl, consummate in grace and
strength, supreme in chaste pride, cheek and neck soft-glowing from the
sunny field, eyes revealing the heart at one with nature. Others there
were, women of many worlds, only less beautiful; but by these three the
young man was held bound. He could not satisfy himself with looking and
musing; he could not pluck himself away. An old experience; he always
lingered by the print shops of the Haymarket, and always went on with
troubled blood, with mind rapt above familiar circumstance, dreaming
passionately, making wild forecast of his fate.

At this hour of the morning not many passers had leisure to stand and
gaze; one, however, came to a pause beside Piers Otway, and viewed the
engravings. He was a man considerably older; not so well dressed, but
still, on the strength of externals, entitled to the style of
gentleman; his brown, hard felt hat was entirely respectable, as were
his tan gloves and his boots, but the cut-away coat began to hint at
release from service, and the trousers owed a superficial smartness
merely to being tightly strapped. This man had a not quite agreeable
face; inasmuch as it was smoothly shaven, and exhibited a peculiar
mobility, it might have denoted him an actor; but the actor is wont to
twinkle a good-natured mood which did not appear upon this visage. The
contour was good, and spoke intelligence; the eyes must once have been
charming. It was a face which had lost by the advance of years; which
had hardened where it was soft, and seemed likely to grow harder yet;
for about the lips, as he stood examining these pictures, came a
suggestion of the vice in blood which tends to cruelty. The nostrils
began to expand and to tremble a little; the eyes seemed to project
themselves; the long throat grew longer. Presently, he turned a glance
upon the young man standing near to him, and in that moment his
expression entirely altered.

"Why," he exclaimed, "Piers!"

The other gave a start of astonishment, and at once smiled recognition.

"Daniel! I hadn't looked--I had no idea----" They shook hands, with
graceful cordiality on the elder man's part, with a slightly
embarrassed goodwill on that of the younger. Daniel Otway, whose age
was about eight-and-thirty, stood in the relation of half-brotherhood
to Piers, a relation suggested by no single trait of their visages.