quarrel in this scene which, but for the
intervening hand of the deux ex machina, bade fair to be deadly. When,
after repeated trials, they warmed to their work, and got hold of
something like the passion of their part, a listener might have
acquitted them of all play-acting, and broken in himself to prevent
bloodshed. For they both started from the assumption that the tones
of the stage must be gradually built up into power from those used in
ordinary speech, and so they avoided the least taint of staginess, and
were on their way to become rather better actors than the best we have
just now.

Leland's temperament was not of a nature to persuade him to perpetual
effort in any direction; and so, whilst Barndale worked, the other
amateur relieved vacuity with billiards. It got into a settled habit
with him at last to leave Barndale nightly at his comedy, and to return
to the house-boat at an hour little short of midnight. He would find
Barndale still at work writing by the light of a lamp grown dim with
incrustations of self-immolated insects. Moths fluttered to this
light in incredible numbers, and literal thousands of lives were thus
sacrificed nightly at the drama's shrine. It was nearly midnight, and as
black as a wolfs mouth, when Leland sculled up from the 'Swan' to spend
his last night but one aboard the house-boat.

'Billy, old man,' he cried, bursting in suddenly; 'look here! Ain't I in
for it now? Read this!'

He handed to his friend a letter which Barndale read in silence.

'This is awkward,' the latter said after a long, grave pause.

Leland sat in constrained solemnity for awhile, but by-and-by a genial
grin spread over his features, and he chuckled in deep enjoyment.

'It's a lark for all that, Billy. We shall have the noble Demetri here
next, I suppose. Let's hire him for the great Christmas show. "Signor
Demetri Agryopoulo will appear in his great stiletto trick, frustrated
by Billy Barndale, the Bounding Brother of the Bosphorus."'

'What is to be done?' said Barndale, ignoring his companion's
flippancies.

'Yes,' said Leland, sitting down and growing suddenly grave. 'What's
to be done? Read the letter out, Billy, and let's consider the thing
seriously.'

Barndale read aloud.

'My very dear Friend,--At what time you was at
Constantinople, when trouble came, you made promise that you
would not forget me if my poor Demetri should trouble about
you. When you last wrote to me