“I think,” said Arthur, “that I will ask you to take my things up to the hotel.  I will come by-and-by.  I should like the same room I had before, if it is empty.”

“Very good, Mr. Heigham.  You will have the place nearly all to yourself now.”

Having seen his baggage depart, Arthur turned, and resisting the importunities of beggars, guides, and parrot-sellers, who had not yet recognized him as an old hand, made his way towards the Quinta Carr.  How well he knew the streets and houses, even to the withered faces of the women who sat by the doors, and yet he seemed to have grown old since he had seen them.  Ten minutes of sharp walking brought him to the gates of the Quinta, and he paused before them, and thought how, a few months ago, he had quitted them, miserable at the grief of another, now to re-enter them utterly crushed by his own.

He walked on through the beautiful gardens to the house.  The hall-door stood open.  He did not wait to ring, but, driven by some impulse, entered.  After the glare of the sun, which at that time of the year was powerful even in its decline, the carefully shaded hall seemed quite dark.  But by degrees his eyes adapted themselves to the altered light, and began to distinguish the familiar outline of the furniture.  Next they travelled to the door of the drawing-room, where another sight awaited them.  For there, herself a perfect picture, standing in the doorway for a frame, her hands outstretched in welcome, and a loving smile upon her lips, was Mildred.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, gently.  “I thought that you would come.”

“Mildred, my idol has been cast down, and, as you told me to do, I have come back to you.”

“Dear,” she answered, “you are very welcome.”

And then came Miss Terry, pleased with all her honest heart to see him, and utterly ignorant of the fierce currents that swept under the smooth surface of their little social sea.  Miss Terry was not by nature a keen observer.

“Dear me, Mr. Heigham, who would have thought of seeing you again so soon?  You are brave to cross the bay so often” (her thoughts ran a great deal on the Bay of Biscay); “but I don’t think you look quite well, you have such black lines under your eyes, and, I declare, there’s a grey hair!”

“Oh, I assure you your favourite bay was enough to turn anybody’s hair grey, Miss Terry.”

And so, talking cheerfully, they went in to the pleasant little dinner, Mildred leaning over so slightly on his arm, and gazing into his sad face with full and happy eyes.  After all that he had gone through, it seemed to Arthur as though he had dropped into a haven of rest.

“See here,” said Mildred, when they rose from table, “a wonder has come to pass since you deserted us.  Look, sceptic that you are!” and she led him to the window, and, lifting a glass shade which protected a flower-pot, showed him a green spike peeping from the soil.