room, disturbed him, and with contracted brow he paused and listened longer than usual.  The branches smote the window, and he smiled at his folly.  He was positive that Narcisse was sound asleep.  When the valise was packed, he cautiously turned the light a little higher, got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and wrote in a straggling hand:  “Dear friend Narcisse,—­I thought it better if I went alone.  I know you like her.  You knew her before I did, and you brought me here.  I think she likes you better than me, too.  She ought to.  That which has come between us has made me feel very bad.  When I am away I will try and think only of the camp days.  She will make you a good wife, Narcisse.  Some day I will write and let you know how I am getting along in the North-West.—­CHARLIE.”

He doubled the note carefully and addressed it to Narcisse.  Then he rolled some silver up in a paper and addressed it to his landlady.  Silently he put on his coat and hat, picked up his boots, seized his carpet-bag, blew out the light, and in his stocking feet stole to the door.  “I will put on my boots at the bottom of the stairs,” he muttered absently.

He was half-way out of the door, when he stopped suddenly.  Again that slight noise which seemed to come from Narcisse’s room!  Could it be possible that Narcisse was not in bed?  Again the branches rattled on the panes, and again he chided himself for his fancy.  He softly closed the door behind him, flitted along the narrow passage and began to descend the stairs leading to the street.  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he was just in the act of pulling on his boots, when the door at the top of the stairs was pulled slowly open.  There was no mistake this time; someone was stealing down the stairs.  The darkness was too great to allow him to see who it was.  There was no escape for him; his boots were off, and his latch-key was in his pocket.  Long before he could open the door he who was descending would be with him at the bottom of the stairs.  Quickly he pulled a match from his pocket and struck it.  Instantly the dark stairway was made light.  The sight he saw fairly stunned him.  Standing in the middle of the stairs was Narcisse, his canvas valise in one hand and his boots in the other.

“Narcisse!” gasped Charlie.

“Charlie!” cried Narcisse, letting his boots and bag fall.  The match went out.  For a few moments there was silence; then Narcisse descended the remainder of the stairs.  Without a word they both pulled on their boots.  They both understood now.

Charlie lit a match while Narcisse unfastened the door.  As they stepped out into the street Narcisse drew Charlie’s arm through his.

“De train don’t leave for twenty minutes yet,” he said calmly, “no need for hurry; eh, Charlie?”

Charlie halted.  “No, no, Narcisse,” he said with a little break in his voice.  “She likes you; you must not leave.”

Narcisse was big and strong; he drew Charlie’s arm again through his, and again they began slowly to walk toward the station.