o the little hotel
courtyard, to the orange trees in green tubs, to the golden sunshine and
the sparkle of the blue water, to the woman then sitting by his side.

Memory can become a sheer physical pain at times.

Antony got up from the settle, and moved to the window. Despite the dusk
within the room, there was still a faint reflection of the sunset in the
sky, a soft pink glow.

One thing was certain--nothing, no power on earth, should ever drag him
back to Teneriffe again. If only he could control the action of his
memory as easily as he could control the actions of his body. At all
events he'd make a fight for it. And yet, if only--The phrase summed up
every atom of regret for his mad decision, his falling in with that
idiotic plan of Nicholas's. And, after all, had it been so idiotic? Mad,
certainly; but wasn't there a certain justification in the madness? It
was a madness the villagers would unquestionably bless.

His thoughts turned to the recent interview. It had fully borne out all
Nicholas's expectations. Bland, self-confident, Curtis had entered the
library. Antony had had no faintest notion whom he had expected to see
therein, but most assuredly it was not the two figures who had confronted
him. Bewilderment had passed over his face, and an odd undernote of fear.
It was just possible he had taken Nicholas for a ghost. The reassurance
on that point had set him fairly at his ease. He had been subservient to
Nicholas, extravagantly amused to learn of the trick that had been
played. He had been insolently oblivious of Antony's presence. Antony had
enjoyed the insolence. When he learnt that his services were no longer
required, he had first appeared slightly discomfited. Then he had plucked
up heart of grace.

"Going to take matters into your own hands?" he had said to Nicholas.
"Excellent, my dear sir, excellent."

Nicholas had glanced down at the said hands.

"I think," he had said slowly, "that they are rather old. No; I have
other plans in view."

"Yes?" Curtis had queried.

"I wish to try a new _regime_," Nicholas had said calmly. "I should like
to introduce you to my new agent." He had waved his hand towards Antony.

Black as murder is a well-worn and somewhat trite expression,
nevertheless it alone adequately described the old agent's expression.
And then, with a palpable effort, he had recovered himself.

"A really excellent plan," he had said, with scarcely veiled insolence.
"I congratulate