receded from him, and disappeared, he thought, "That is Francesca's
spirit, bidding me an eternal adieu"--and, with the foolish thought, in
spite of its foolishness, he shivered and stretched out his arms in
return.

"Of a verity," he then cried, "if nature failed to make me an idiot, I
am doing my best to consummate that end, and become one of free choice.
What folly possesses me? I will dissipate it at once,--I will see her in
bodily shape,--that will put an end to such fancies,"--starting up, and
beginning to pull on his gloves.

"No! no, that will not do,"--pulling them off again. "She will think I
am an uneasy ghost that pursues her. I must wait till this evening, but
ah, what an age till evening!"

Fortunately, all ages, even lovers' ages, have an end. The evening came;
he was at the Fifth Avenue,--his card sent up,--his feet impatiently
travelling to and fro upon the parlor carpet,--his heart beating with
happiness and expectancy. A shadow darkened the door; he flew to meet
the substance,--not a sweet face and graceful form, but a servant, big
and commonplace, bringing him his own card and the announcement, "The
ladies is both out, sir."

"Impossible! take it up again."

He said "impossible" because Francesca had that morning told him she
would be at home in the evening.

"All right, sir; but it's no use, for there's nobody there, I know"; and
he vanished for a second attempt, unsuccessful as the first. Surrey went