n him, until his host entered. Then, in that
auspicious moment when his own pipe and his companion's cigarette were
being lighted, he said: "I've been amusing myself with drawing since you
left, sir, and I've produced this," handing over the paper.

Louis Bachelor took the sketch, and, walking to the window for better
light, said: "Believe me, I have a profound respect for the artistic
talent. I myself once had--ah!" He sharply paused as he saw the
pencilled head, and stood looking fixedly at it. Presently he turned
slowly, came to the portrait on the wall, and compared it with that in
his hand. Then, with a troubled face, he said: "You have much talent,
but it is--it is too old--much too old--and very sorrowful."

"I intended the face to show age and sorrow, Mr. Bachelor. Would not the
original of that have both?"

"She had sorrow--she had sorrow, but," and he looked sadly at the sketch
again, "it is too old for her. Her face was very young--always very
young."

"But has she not sorrow now, sir?" the other persisted gently.

The grey head was shaken sadly, and the unsteady voice meditatively
murmured: "Such beauty, such presence! I was but five-and-thirty then."
There was a slight pause, and then, with his hand touching the young
man's shoulder, Louis Bachelor continued: "You are young; you have a
good heart; I know men. You have the sympathy of the artist--why should
I not speak to you? I have been silent about it so long. You have
brought the past back, I know not how, so vividly! I dream here, I work
here; men come with merchandise and go again; they only bind my tongue;
I am not of them: but you are different, as it seems to me, and young.
God gave me a happy youth. My eyes were bright as yours, my heart as
fond. You love--is it not so? Ah, you smile and blush like an honest
man. Well, so much the more I can speak now. God gave me then strength
and honour and love--blessed be His name! And then He visited me with
sorrow, and, if I still mourn, I have peace, too, and a busy life." Here
he looked at the sketch again.

"Then I was a soldier. She was my world. Ah, true, love is a great
thing--a great thing! She had a brother. They two with their mother were
alone in the world, and we were to be married. One day at Gibraltar I
received a letter from her saying that our marriage could not be; that
she was going away from England; that those lines were her farewell; and
that she commended me to the love of Heaven. S