t laughter, deep and
musical.

"Love is a very vague word," he said presently.

"Is it?" Beatrice asked, with some coldness.

"To me, at least," Keyork hastened to say, as though somewhat confused.
"But, of course, I can know very little about it in myself, and nothing
about it in others."

Not knowing how matters might turn out, he was willing to leave Beatrice
with a suspicion of the truth, while denying all knowledge of it.

"You know him yourself, of course," Beatrice suggested.

"I have known him for years--oh, yes, for him, I can answer. He was not
in the least in love."

"I did not ask that question," said Beatrice rather haughtily. "I knew
he was not."

"Of course, of course. I beg your pardon!"

Keyork was learning more from her than she from him. It was true that
she took no trouble to conceal her interest in the Wanderer and his
doings.

"Are you sure that he has left the city?" Beatrice asked.

"No, I am not positive. I could not say with certainty."

"When did you see him last?"

"Within the week, I am quite sure," Keyork answered with alacrity.

"Do you know where he was staying?"

"I have not the least idea," the little man replied, without the
slightest hesitation. "We met at first by chance in the Teyn Kirche, one
afternoon--it was a Sunday, I remember, about a month ago."

"A month ago--on a Sunday," Beatrice repeated thoughtfully.

"Yes--I think it was New Year's Day, too."

"Strange," she said. "I was in the church that very morning, with my
maid. I had been ill for several days--I remember how cold it was.
Strange--the same day."

"Yes," said Keyork, noting the words, but appearing to take no notice of
them. "I was looking at Tycho Brahe's monument. You know how it annoys
me to forget anything--there was a word in the inscription which I could
not recall. I turned round and saw him sitting just at the end of the
pew nearest to the monument."

"The old red slab with a figure on it, by the last pillar?" Beatrice
asked eagerly.

"Exactly. I daresay you know the church very well. You remember that
the pew runs very near to the monument so that there is hardly room to
pass."

"I know--yes."

She was thinking that it could hardly have been a mere accident which
had led the Wanderer to take the very seat she had occupied on the
morning of that day. He must have seen her during the Mass, but she
could not imagine how he could have missed her. They had been very near
then. And