companion's excitement. As minute succeeded minute and Asshlin sat
rigid in his seat--cutting, dealing, marking the result of each game
upon a strip of paper--the elder man became more and more the satellite
of thirty years ago, less and less the placid archaeologist for whom
the follies of the present lie overshadowed by the past.

He forgot the long journey of the afternoon, the peculiar incidents of
his arrival. A slight flush rose to his usually bloodless cheeks; he
found himself watching the run of the cards with a species of reflected
eagerness, roused to an unaccustomed elation when the advantage fell to
him.

At three o'clock they played the last round. And it was only then--when
the last card had been thrown on the table, and he had risen stiff from
long sitting, the winner of something like twenty pounds--that he
realised how completely he had been dominated by this resurrected
influence; dominated to the exclusion of personal prejudice and even
personal comfort. So strong was this impression of past influences that
he was roused to no surprise when, glancing at his companion, he saw
him temporarily rejuvenated--his expression alert, his whole face
vivified by the night's excitement.

Again a touch of the old sympathy arose within him. The reckless,
cynical man before him was momentarily effaced; the bright personality
of long ago seemed to fill the room.

"Good-night, Denis!" he said gently, holding out his hand.

Asshlin caught it enthusiastically.

"Good-night, James!--good-night! And once more a thousand welcomes and
a thousand thanks. You have been a drop of water in the desert to a
parching man. Good-night, and pleasant dreams to you! I'll reckon up my
losses in the morning and write you a cheque. Good-night!"

Milbanke responded to the pressure of his fingers.

"Don't trouble about the money," he said. "Any time will do--any time.
But you're turning in yourself? We'll be upstairs together?"

But Asshlin shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. "Not after this. I'll take a turn across the fields
and have a look at the night on the water. I feel too much awake to be
smothered by sheets and blankets. It isn't often we feel life here--and
the sensation is glorious."

He drew up his tall, powerful figure and stretched out his arms. Then
almost at once he let them fall to his sides.

"But what moonshine this is to you, you prosaic Saxon!" he exclaimed.
"Let me light you to bed."

He laughed quick