Here he smiled, somewhat pleased with his own skill in metaphor, and having rubbed his bow enough, he drew it lingeringly across the ’cello strings.  A long, sweet, shuddering sound rewarded him, like the upward wave of a wind among high trees, and he heard it with much gratification.  He would try the Cavatina again now, he decided, and bringing his music-stand closer, he settled himself in readiness to begin.  Just then the Nurnberg clock commenced striking the hour, accompanying each stroke with a very soft and mellow little chime of bells that sent fairy-like echoes through the quiet room.  A bright flame started up from the glowing fire in the grate, flinging ruddy flashes along the walls,—­a rattling gust of rain dashed once at the windows,—­the tuneful clock ceased, and all was still.  Villiers waited a moment; then with heedful earnestness, started the first bar of Raff’s oft-murdered composition, when a knock at the door disturbed him and considerably ruffled his equanimity.

“Come in!” he called testily.

His man-servant appeared, a half-pleased, half-guilty look on his staid countenance.

“Please, sir, a gentleman called—­”

“Well!—­you said I was out?”

“No, sir! leastways I thought you might be at home to him, sir!”

“Confound you!” exclaimed Villiers petulantly, throwing down his bow in disgust,—­“What business had you to think anything about it? ...  Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t at home to anybody?”

“Come, come, Villiers!".. said a mellow voice outside, with a ripple of suppressed laughter in its tone, . .  “Don’t be inhospitable!  I’m sure you are at home to me!”

And passing by the servant, who at once retired, the speaker entered the apartment, lifted his hat, and smiled.  Villiers sprang from his chair in delighted astonishment.

“Alwyn!” he cried; and the two friends—­whose friendship dated from boyhood—­clasped each other’s hands heartily, and were for a moment both silent,—­half-ashamed of those affectionate emotions to which impulsive women may freely give vent, but to which men may not yield without being supposed to lose somewhat of the dignity of manhood.

“By Jove!” said Villiers at last, drawing a deep breath.  “This is a surprise!  Only a few minutes ago I was considering whether we should not have to note you down in the newspaper as one of the ‘mysterious disappearances’ grown common of late!  Where do you come from, old fellow?”

“From Paris just directly,” responded Alwyn, divesting himself of his overcoat, and stepping outside the door to hang it on an evidently familiar nail in the passage, and then re-entering,—­ “But from Bagdad in the first instance.  I visited that city, sacred to fairy-lore, and from thence journeyed to Damascus like one of our favorite merchants in the Arabian Nights,—­then I went to Beyrout, and Alexandria, from which latter place I took ship homeward, stopping at delicious Venice while on my way.”