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 gave him, now, no sense of exhilaration. He thought not of their incomparable privilege as roamers; but of the dreary fate which buffeted them from harbour to harbour in a quest that was never fulfilled. Poor ships! Poor boy! Yet he envied, as well as pitied the boy—envied him his blazing faith in the treasures that lay beyond the horizon. Poor man! His faith nowadays, at best, merely glowed; often it lay cold and ash-buried. It might once more burst into flame—a flame that should serve as a beacon. But it would need the most delicate fanning.

His eyes wandered over the soot-besmirched city. How sure it was of itself—like all things ugly.

He took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders, and walked down the hill, making for the office of his solicitor. Mr. Kingsley started up with an air of surprise and offered him an awkward greeting.

"Well?" he finally inquired.

"I'd like you to arrange for the immediate sale of everything I possess," announced Paul.

"Everything?"

"Every square inch of land, every stick, every stock—the whole shooting-match."

"Won't you explain your idea—I don't quite see"

"You needn't. You'll receive the usual commission."

Mr. Kingsley winced, but took down Paul's instructions.

"You plan to go away again?" he inquired, when the business was settled.

"Yes."

"I suppose you'll let us hear from you occasionally."

"Probably not."

Mr. Kingsley looked offended, then, with a sympathy which Paul dismissed as belated, left his desk and crossed the room to stand beside his client. "Look here, Minas, you mustn't take this thing so hard. I knew your father