“This is very sumptuous!” he said with a dreamy smile—­“It looks quite antique!”

“Doesn’t it!” exclaimed Villiers, delighted—­“I had it copied from a first edition of Petrarca which happens to be in my collection.  This specimen of ‘Nourhalma’ has become valuable and unique.  It was published at ten-and-six, and can’t be got anywhere under five or six guineas, if for that.  Of course a copy of each edition has been set aside for you.”

Alwyn laid down the book with a gentle indifference.

“My dear fellow, I’ve had enough of ‘Nourhalma,’” ... he said ...  “I’ll keep a copy of the first edition, if only as a souvenir of your good-will and energy in bringing it out so admirably—­but for the rest! ... the book belongs to me no more, but to the public,—­ and so let the public do with it what they will!”

Villiers raised his eyebrows perplexedly.

“I believe, after all, Alwyn, you don’t really care for your fame!”

“Not in the least!” replied Alwyn, laughing.  “Why should I?”

“You longed for it once as the utmost good!”

“True!—­but there are other utmost goods, my friend, that I desire more keenly.”

“But are they attainable?”—­queried Villiers.  “Men, and specially poets, often hanker after what is not possible to secure.”

“Granted!” responded Alwyn cheerfully—­“But I do not crave for the impossible.  I only seek to recover what I have lost.”

“And that is?”

“What most men have lost, or are insanely doing their best to lose”—­said Alwyn meditatively..  “A grasp of things eternal, through the veil of things temporal.”

There was a short silence, during which Villiers eyed his friend wistfully.

“What was that ‘adventure’ you spoke about in your letter from the Monastery on the Pass of Dariel?” he asked after a while—­“You said you were on the search for a new sensation-did you experience it?”

Alwyn smiled.  “I certainly did!”

“Did it arise from a contemplation of the site of the Ruins of Babylon?”

“Not exactly.  Babylon,—­or rather the earth-mounds which are now called Babylon,—­had very little to do with it.”

“Don’t you want to tell me about it?” demanded Tilliers abruptly.

“Not just yet”—­answered Alwyn, with good-humored frankness,—­“Not to-night, at any rate!  But I will tell you, never fear!  For the present we’ve talked enough, . . don’t you think bed suggests itself as a fitting conclusion to our converse?”

Villiers laughed and acquiesced, and after pressing his friend to partake of something in the way of supper, which refreshment was declined, he preceded him to a small, pleasantly cosy room,—­his “guest-chamber” as he called it, but which was really almost exclusively set apart for Alwyn’s use alone, and was always in readiness for him whenever he chose to occupy it.  Turning on the pretty electric lamp that lit the whole apartment with a soft and shaded lustre, Villiers shook hands heartily with his old school-fellow and favorite comrade, and bidding him a brief but cordial good-night left him to repose.