lowly.

"Yes, for life," he answered bitterly. "That was the sentence,
imprisonment for life."

"Then you have escaped?"

The same slow shake of the head. The Professor was bitterly
disappointed.

"No. At five-and-twenty years a prisoner with a good-conduct sheet is
restored to liberty. My time came at last. It was a weary while."

"What evil fate kept him alive all that time?" the Professor muttered
under his breath. "Men are buried deep who pass within the walls of an
Italian prison. What had kept this frail old man alive?" Before the
night was over, he knew!

The Professor sat on the edge of his chair, limp and dejected. He was
quite powerless to frame any speech of welcome or congratulation.
Fortunately, it was not expected. His visitor was deep in thought, and
some time passed before he appeared even to notice the presence of
Signor Bartlezzi. At last, however, he looked up and spoke.

"I fear that all things have not gone well with us!" he said sadly. "On
my release, I visited the old home of our society in the Piazza di
Spiola at Rome. It was broken up. I met with no one who could tell me
anything about it. It was doubtless because I knew not where to go; but
I had fancied--I had hoped--that there might have been some one whose
memory would not have been altogether dulled by time, who would have
come to meet me at the prison gates, and welcome me back into the living
world once more. But that is nothing. Doubtless the day of my release
was unknown. It was the hot season at Rome, and I wandered wearily
about, seeing no familiar face, and unable to hear anything of our
friends. I might have had patience and lingered, but it seemed to me
that I had been patient so long--it was all exhausted. From there I went
to Florence, with the same result. At last I came to London, and by
making cautious inquiries through my bank, I discovered your address. So
I have come here."

"Ah, yes, yes," answered the Professor, with blinking eyes, and still
completely bewildered. "You have come here. Just so. Just so."

"The numbers have fallen off, I suppose? Yet you still have meetings?"

"Oh, yes; certainly. We still have meetings," the Professor assented
spasmodically.

The little old man nodded his head gravely. He had never doubted it.

"When is the next?" he asked, with the first touch of eagerness creeping
into his voice.

Signor Bartlezzi felt a cold perspiration on his forehead, and slowly
mopped it with a red