air, Hammond."

"Not to-night," Livingstone answered. "I am not in the humor for
admiring any thing. I should be rather in your way."

One of his gloomy fits was coming over him, at which times he always
chose to be alone.

"Well, I shall go and consume the 'humble, but not wholly heart-broken
weed of every-day life,' as Tyrrell used to say. (Don't you remember his
double-barreled adjectives?) If you hear any one singing _very_ sweetly,
don't be alarmed; you'll know it is the harmless lunatic who now
addresses you; the fit won't last more than an hour. We shall be in Rome
to-morrow. The only thing on my mind now is whether I shall find any
thing there to carry me across the Campagna. K---- has a very fair pack,
I understand, and no end of foxes."

Have you ever watched the completion of a photograph, when the nitrate
of silver (or whatever the last lotion may be) is applied? First one
feature comes out, that you may indulgently mistake for a tree, or a
gable-end, or a mountain top; then another, till the whole picture
stands out in clear, brilliant relief.

Just so when I recall that scene--little heed as I took at the time of
them--every gesture, and look, and tone of Forrester's becomes as
distinct as if he stood in the body before me now. I can see him
standing in the shadow of the doorway, the red glare from the blazing
wood with which he was lighting his cigar falling over his delicate
features and bright chestnut hair--I can hear his kind soft voice as he
speaks these last two words, "_Al rivederci_."

Whether that wish will be accomplished hereafter, God alone can tell; if
so, it must be beyond the grave. In life we never saw him any more.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"But time at length makes all things even,
And if we do but bide the hour,
There never yet was human power
That could evade, if unforgiven,
The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong."

Three quarters of an hour later, Guy was sitting in his room, gazing at
the embers on the hearth, in the attitude of moody thought that of late
he was apt to fall into. Suddenly there came a timid knock at his door.
When he opened it, his cousin stood on the threshold--ghost-like,
against the background of darkness, with her white dressing-gown, pale
cheeks, and long hair unbound.

"Guy, don't be angry," she said; "it's very foolish of me, I know; but
Charley has not come in yet, and just now I am cer