half over when I woke up. Instead of going to bed, I stood a long time
at the window, looking out at the river. It was a warm, still night, and
the first faint streaks of sunrise were in the sky. Presently I heard a
slow footstep beneath my window, and looking down, made out by the aid of
a street lamp that Stanmer was but just coming home. I called to him to
come to my rooms, and, after an interval, he made his appearance.

"I want to bid you good-bye," I said; "I shall depart in the morning.
Don't go to the trouble of saying you are sorry. Of course you are not;
I must have bullied you immensely."

He made no attempt to say he was sorry, but he said he was very glad to
have made my acquaintance.

"Your conversation," he said, with his little innocent air, "has been
very suggestive."

"Have you found Camerino?" I asked, smiling.

"I have given up the search."

"Well," I said, "some day when you find that you have made a great
mistake, remember I told you so."

He looked for a minute as if he were trying to anticipate that day by the
exercise of his reason.

"Has it ever occurred to you that _you_ may have made a great mistake?"

"Oh yes; everything occurs to one sooner or later."