walked on to the old boat summer-house. There he told me
everything. I cannot describe to you my feelings of anguish and horror
when he told me of the appearance of the man. The interest of the tale
was so absorbing to me that I took no note of time, nor of the cold
night air, and it was only when it was all finished that I felt how
deadly chill it had become. "Let us go in, John," I said; "I am cold and
feel benumbed."

But youth is hopeful and strong, and in another week the impression had
faded from our minds, and we were enjoying the full glory of midsummer
weather, which I think only those know who have watched the blue sea
come rippling in at the foot of the white chalk cliffs of Dorset.

I had felt a reluctance even so much as to hear the air of the
_Gagliarda_, and though he had spoken to me of the subject on more than
one occasion, my brother had never offered to play it to me. I knew that
he had the copy of Graziani's suites with him at Worth Maltravers,
because he had told me that he had brought it from Oxford; but I had
never seen the book, and fancied that he kept it intentionally locked
up. He did not, however, neglect the violin, and during the summer
mornings, as I sat reading or working on the terrace, I often heard him
playing to himself in the library. Though he had never even given me any
description of the melody of the _Gagliarda_, yet I felt certain that he
not infrequently played it. I cannot say how it was; but from the moment
that I heard him one morning in the library performing an air set in a
curiously low key, it forced itself upon my attention, and I knew, as it
were by instinct, that it must be the _Gagliarda_ of the "Areopagita."
He was using a _sordino_ and playing it very softly; but I was not
mistaken. One wet afternoon in October, only a week before the time of
his leaving us to return to Oxford for the autumn term, he walked into
the drawing-room where I was sitting, and proposed that we should play
some music together. To this I readily agreed. Though but a mediocre
performer, I have always taken much pleasure in the use of the
pianoforte, and esteemed it an honour whenever he asked me to play with
him, since my powers as a musician were so very much inferior to his.
After we had played several pieces, he took up an oblong music-book
bound in white vellum, placed it upon the desk of the pianoforte, and
proposed that we should play a suite by Graziani. I knew that he meant
the "Are