the chief as if he wore a dozen orders on his scarlet
shirt."

"Where is the cloak? I want to see and touch it; surely you kept it as a
relic?"

"Not I. Having seen the man, what do I care for the garment that covered
him. I keep the hand shake, the 'Grazia, grazia,' for my share. Poor
Beppo lies buried in the hero's cloak."

"I grudge it to him, every inch of it, for not having seen the man _I_
do desire the garment. Who but you would have done it?"

Warwick smiled, knowing that his friend was well pleased with him for
all his murmuring. They walked in silence till Moor abruptly asked--

"When can you travel, Adam?"

"I was coming back to you to-morrow."

"Are you sure it is safe?"

"Quite sure; ten days is enough to waste upon a scratch like this."

"Come now, I cannot wait till to-morrow."

"Very good. Can you stop till I get my hat?"

"You don't ask me why I am in such haste."

Moor's tone caused Warwick to pause and look at him. Joy, impatience,
anxiety, contended with each other in his countenance; and as if unable
to tell the cause himself, he put a little paper into the other's hand.
Only three words were contained in it, but they caused Warwick's face
to kindle with all the joy betrayed in that of his friend, none of the
impatience nor anxiety.

"What can I say to show you my content? The months have seemed very long
to you, but now comes the reward. The blessed little letter! so like
herself; the slender slip, the delicate handwriting, the three happy
words,--'Geoffrey, come home.'"

Moor did not speak, but still looked up anxiously, inquiringly; and
Warwick answered with a glance he could not doubt.

"Have no fears for me. I share the joy as heartily as I shared the
sorrow; neither can separate us any more."

"Thank heaven for that! But, Adam, may I accept this good gift and be
sure I am not robbing you again? You never speak of the past, how is it
with you now?"

"Quite well and happy; the pain is gone, the peace remains. I would not
have it otherwise. Six months have cured the selfishness of love, and
left the satisfaction which nothing can change or take away."

"But Sylvia, what of her, Adam?"

"Henceforth, Sylvia and Ottila are only fair illustrations of the two
extremes of love. I am glad to have known both; each has helped me, and
each will be remembered while I live. But having gained the experience I
can relinquish the unconscious bestowers of it, if it is not best to
keep th