He used to count the hours and the quarter hours as they chimed in the belfry and he was beginning to grow fond of the inexorable routine and to find it passing sweet and restful.

He was unconsciously falling into a mode of life such as he had never known before, and he seemed to feel a growing repugnance to the world without him; how very far away it seemed now!  He realized an increasing sense of security so long as he lodged within those gates.  His dark robed companions, the amiable Fathers, cheered him, comforted him, strengthened him; and yet when his ghostly father one day sent word to Clitheroe that he desired to see him immediately, and thereupon insisted that the heart-broken boy accompany him to the retreat of his Order, he had no thought other than to offer Paul the change of scene which alone might help to tide the youth over the first crushing pangs of bereavement.

“Give me a week or two of your time,” pleaded the good priest—­“and I will introduce you to a course of life such as you have never known; it should interest and perhaps benefit you; possibly you may find it delightful.  At any rate you must be hastened out of the morbid mood which now possesses you, even if we have to drag you by force.”

So Paul went with him, suddenly and in a kind of desperation:  his visit was prolonged from day to day, until some weeks had passed.  Peace was returning to him—­peace such as he had never known before.

* * * * *

Meanwhile certain of the young poet’s friends had called to see him at the Eyrie, and to their amazement found his rooms deserted; in the staring bay window with the inner blinds thrown wide open was notice “To Let.”  His landlady knew nothing of his whereabouts.  He had said good-bye to no one.  His disappearance was perhaps the most mysterious of mysterious disappearances!

* * * * *

Now, what really happened was this.  Having packed everything he valued and seen it safely stored, he settled with his landlady and went down to the Club.  It was his P.P.C., though no one there suspected it, and with just a touch of sentiment—­he walked through the rooms alone; he saw at a glance that the usual habitues of the place were employing themselves in the same old way.  Though he had not been there often of late, no one seemed much surprised to see him; he passed through the suite of rooms without addressing himself to any one in particular; a glance of recognition here and there; a smile, a slight nod, now and again, this was all.  Having made the rounds he returned to the cloak-room, took his hat and cane and departed.

From that hour dated his disappearance.  From that hour the Eyrie saw him no more forever.

* * * * *

IV.

BY THE WORLD FORGOT

For a long while he had been listening to the moan of the sea—­the wail and the warning that rise from every reef in that wild waste of waters.  There was no moon, but the large stars cast each a wake upon the wave, and the distant surf-lines were faintly illuminated by a phosphorescent glow.