nally, with a little shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the
subject.

He was soon to be reminded of it, though, for when he reached home, he
was told at once that a gentleman was waiting to see him in the study.
Then Rochester, with a little gasp of surprise, recalled that likeness
which had puzzled him so much. He knew who his visitor was! He walked
toward the study, filled with a curious--perhaps, even, an ominous
sense of excitement!...

They were face to face in a few seconds. The man was unchanged. The
boy alone was altered. Rochester's hair was a little grayer, perhaps,
but his face was still smooth. His out-of-door life and that wonderful
mouth of his, with its half humorous, half cynical curve, still kept
his face young. To the boy had come a change much more marked and
evident. He was a boy no longer--not even a youth. He carried himself
with the assured bearing of a man of the world. His thick black hair
was carefully parted. His clothes bore the stamp of Saville Row. His
face was puzzling. His eyes were still the eyes of a dreamer, the eyes
of a man who is content to be rather than to do. Yet the rest of his
face seemed somehow to have suffered. His cheeks had filled out. His
mouth and expression were no longer easy to read. There were things in
his face which would have puzzled a physiognomist.

Rochester had entered the library and closed the door behind him. He
nodded toward the man who rose slowly to greet him, but ignored his
outstretched hand.

"I am sure that I cannot be mistaken," he said. "It is my young friend
of the hillside."

"It is he," Saton answered. "I scarcely expected to be remembered."

"One sees so few fresh faces," Rochester murmured. "You have kept the
condition, then? I must confess that I am glad to see you. I shall
hope that you will have a great deal that is interesting to tell me.
At any rate, it is a good sign that you have kept the condition."

"I have kept the condition," Saton answered. "I was never likely to
break it. I have wandered up and down the world a good deal during the
past five years, and I have met many strange sorts of people, but I
have never yet met with philanthropy on such a unique scale as yours."

"Not philanthropy, my young friend," Rochester murmured. "I had but
one motive in making you that little gift--curiosity pure and simple."

"Forgive me," Saton remarked. "We will call it a loan, if you do not
mind. I am not going to offer you any interes