always popular. You see, while it is
foggy and miserable in London, it is perfect weather here. Just fancy,
we are only in the middle of April, and yet we are sitting out of doors
in perfect comfort. It's as warm as June."

"There is a mixed crew down there," said Briarfield, nodding in the
direction of what he had called "the Home of Rest."

"Yes?"

"Yes. It is a good thing you are so cosmopolitan in your views. I
dropped in there last night, and had a talk with a German and a
Frenchman, while I saw, sitting in the smoking-room, an Arab of some
sort. At any rate, he wore a fez."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. I did not speak to him, as he seemed in a rather unsociable mood;
but the German told me he was a remarkable sort of character. It seems
he has spent most of his life away in Africa, somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the Desert of Sahara, I think."

"What led him to come here?"

"Heaven only knows. Why did the German and the Frenchman come? I suppose
they heard of the presiding genius of the home, of its beautiful
surroundings, and its healthful climate. Besides, in addition to its
cheapness, all sorts of stories are afloat about the place. You know
that."

Olive laughed.

"I heard only yesterday," went on Briarfield, "that you built it on
account of a dream you had when a child; while some time ago some one
told me that you had loved some youth some years ago, who had died of
consumption, because of the want of a home of rest like this."

Olive laughed again.

"I have been there very little lately," she said. "I've had so many
other things to do."

"Yes, but I think they all hope to see you. This German told me that the
man with the fez is a fatalist, and does not believe in right or wrong.
He's a striking-looking fellow, and would be noticed in any crowd. He's
only been there two days, but is quite a centre of interest."

"Indeed," said Olive; "what is he like?"

"I did not see him standing, but I should judge he's of more than
ordinary height. He has an intensely black beard, which he allows to
grow long. His face is very much tanned, and thus he has quite an
Oriental appearance."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, I should think quite forty-five. But, for that matter, he might be
any age. As I said, I did not hear him speak, but the fellow suggests
all sorts of mysteries. There's a look in his eyes which tells wonderful
things. He might be an esoteric Buddhist, or a Mohammedan who has dwelt
much in Mecca. The f