rmured.

"No, no. Ah, my boy!--I too have been in love--I can find the key to
your feelings by searching my memory. May you be happier than I!"

He passed the back of his hand across his eyes and continued more
cheerfully, hilariously almost:

"But away with an old man's memories! I was young then, and ardent
as you. Nay, as I look upon you I see my very self reflected across
a score of sorrowful years. We are extraordinarily alike, Tristram.
Stand up and measure with me, back to back."

They did so. The Captain found himself the taller by a mere shade.

"It is the wig," he said. "Come, twist up your natural hair and let
me see you in this wig."

Tristram obeyed, and his father fell back in astonishment. "It is
extraordinary!"

"Certainly I perceive the likeness," admitted Tristram, contemplating
himself in the mirror that hung above the mantelpiece.

"It is nothing to what could be produced by the merest touch or two
of art. Give me five minutes, and I warrant you shall deceive the
waitress here."

He drew the curtain, took down a candle from the mantelshelf, lit it
and set it on the table; then, picking up the cork of an empty
bottle, held it to the flame for two seconds or so and began to
operate on his son's face.

"Ah!" he said, "to think that each wrinkle, each line, that I copy
with a piece of cork has been traced in the original by a separate
sorrow! Tristram, your presence makes me young again, young and
childish. And in return I make you old--a pretty recompense!"

Tristram, whose nature was profoundly serious, stood up very stiff
and blinked at the hand which wandered over his face, touching it
here and there as softly as with a feather.

"Are we not wasting time?" he protested.

"Not at all: and to prove it, I am about to send you downstairs to
order horses. It is wonderful! I wager the people of the inn shall
not know you. Order a couple of fleet horses to be waiting in an
hour from now: that will give us plenty of time to reach Nieupoort,
and take a night's rest before sailing to-morrow. Here, kick off
those clumsy boots and take mine; also my cloak here, and sword.
Your breeches and stockings will do. Afterwards you can stroll out
into the town, if you will, and purchase a keepsake for Sophia.
I, myself, will buy a ring at Nieupoort for you to fit upon her
pretty finger, if you succeed in tricking the folk below-stairs.
Farewell, my son, and God bless you!--only, be back wi