, could scarcely repress an exclamation at the
sight of one whom he had seen last in all the pride of youth and great
personal powers; while Glencore, with the instinctive acuteness of his
morbid temperament, as quickly saw the impression he had produced, and
said, with a deep sigh,--

"Ay, Horace, a sad wreck."

"Not so, my dear fellow," said the other, taking the thin, cold hand
within both his own; "as seaworthy as ever, after a little dry-docking
and refitting. It is only a craft like that yonder," and he pointed to
Harcourt, "that can keep the sea in all weathers, and never care for the
carpenter. You and I are of another build."

"And you--how are you?" asked Glencore, relieved to turn attention away
from himself, while he drew his arm within the other's.

"The same poor ailing mortal you always knew me," said Upton, languidly;
"doomed to a life of uncongenial labor, condemned to climates totally
unstated to me, I drag along existence, only astonished at the trouble I
take to live, knowing pretty well as I do what life is worth."

"'Jolly companions every one!' By Jove!" said Har-court, "for a pair of
fellows who were born on the sunny side of the road, I must say you are
marvellous instances of gratitude."

"That excellent hippopotamus," said Upton, "has no-thought for any
calamity if it does not derange his digestion! How glad I am to see the
soup! Now, Glencore, you shall witness no invalid's appetite."

As the dinner proceeded, the tone of the conversation grew gradually
lighter and pleasanter. Upton had only to permit his powers to take
their free course to be agreeable, and now talked away on whatever came
uppermost, with a charming union of reflectiveness and repartee. If a
very rigid purist might take occasional Gallicisms in expression, and
a constant leaning to French modes of thought, none could fail to be
delighted with the graceful ease with which he wandered from theme to
theme, adorning each with some trait of that originality which was his
chief characteristic. Harcourt was pleased without well knowing how or
why, while to Glencore it brought back the memory of the days of happy
intercourse with the world, and all the brilliant hours of that polished
circle in which he had lived. To the pleasure, then, which his powers
conferred, there succeeded an impression of deep melancholy, so deep as
to attract the notice of Harcourt, who hastily asked,--

"If he felt ill?"

"Not worse," said he, fa