n
dust-buried, and choked for breath, and found none. This time a year ago
he had lain so, and for many months after that. Those months had graved
lines on his face--lines perhaps on his soul--that all the quiet, gay
years could not smooth out. For the peace of the lee shore is not a thing
easily won; to let go and drift before the storms wheresoever they drive
needs a hard schooling; to lose comes first, and to laugh long after.

The dust Peter's feet had stirred settled down; and now, instead of
its faint bitterness, the sweetness of the evening hills stole about.
And over the still sea the white moon rose, glorious, triumphant, and
straight from her to Peter, cleaving the dark waters, her bright road
ran.

Peter went down into the little, merry town.

He and Thomas slept at an inn that night. Livio joined them there next
morning at breakfast. He said, "You were foolish to leave the hotel so
soon. I got a good sum of money. There was an English family, that gave
me a good reward. My music pleased them. The English are always generous
and extravagant. Oh, Dio, I forgot; one of them sent you this note by me.
He explained nothing; he said, 'Is he that was with you your friend? Then
give him this note.' Did he perhaps know you of old, or did he merely
perceive that you were of his country? I know nothing. One does not read
the letters entrusted to one for one's friends. Here it is."

He handed Peter a folded-up piece of notepaper. Opening it, Peter read,
scrawled unsteadily in pencil, "Come and see me to-morrow morning. I
shall be alone." E.P.U.

"He followed me to the garden door as I went away," continued Livio, "and
gave it me secretly. I fancy he did not mean his companions to know. You
will go?"

Peter smiled, and Livio looked momentarily embarrassed.

"Oh, you know, it came open in my hand; and understanding the language so
well, it leaped to my eyes. I knew you would not mind. You will go and
see this milord? He _is_ a milord, for I heard the waiter address him."

"Yes," said Peter. "I will go and see him."

An hour later he was climbing the white road again in the morning
sunshine.

Asking at the hotel for Lord Evelyn Urquhart, he was taken through the
garden to a wistaria-hung summer-house. The porter indicated it to him
and departed, and Peter, through the purple veils, saw Lord Evelyn
reclining in a long cane chair, smoking the eternal cigarette and reading
a French novel.

He looked up as Peter's