any young curiosity;
knew so much, that he could weigh and compare what he knew. His figure
was very good; his face agreeable and intelligent, with good observant
grey eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody noted him.

And he had noted nobody; the crowd before him was to him simply a
crowd, which excited no interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, he
caught sight of a head and shoulders in the moving throng, which
started him out of his carelessness. They were but a few yards from
him, seen and lost again in the swaying mass of human beings; but
though half seen he was sure he could not mistake. He spoke out a
little loud the word "Tom!"

He was not heard, and the person spoken to moved out of sight again.
The speaker, however, now left his place and plunged among the people.
Presently he had another glimpse of the head and shoulders, and was yet
more sure of his man; lost sight of him anew, but, following in the
direction taken by the chase, gradually won his way nearer, and at
length overtook the man, who was then standing between the pillars of
the Lion and St. Theodore, and looking out towards the water.

"Tom!" said his pursuer, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Philip Dillwyn!" said the other, turning. "Philip! Where did you come
from? What a lucky turn-up! That I should find you here!"

"I found you, man. Where have _you_ come from?"

"O, from everywhere."

"Are you alone? Where are your people?"

"O, Julia and Lenox are gone home. Mamma and I are here yet. I left
mamma in a _pension_ in Switzerland, where I could not hold it out any
longer; and I have been wandering about--Florence, and Pisa, and I
don't know all--till now I have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly to
get you!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. O, I have done everything, you know. There is nothing left to
a fellow."

"That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn, laughing.

"It is hopeless. Really I don't see, sometimes, what a fellow's life is
good for. I believe the people who have to work for it, have after all
the best time!"

"They work to live," said the other.

"I suppose they do."

"Therefore you are going round in a circle. If life is worth nothing,
why should one work to keep it up?"

"Well, what is it worth, Dillwyn? Upon my word, I have never made it
out satisfactorily."

"Look here--we cannot talk in this place. Have you ever been to
Torcello?"

"No."