set him on his way with thrilling pulse and quivering fibres save
the Vision Splendid, the glorious Hope, the unconquerable Faith. In
the older man's eyes Paul read the calm, stern certainty of things
both born to and achieved; and Colonel Winwood saw in the young
man's eyes, as in a glass darkly, the reflection of the Vision.

"And yours is a very young life," said he. "Gad! it must be
wonderful to be twenty. 'Rich in the glory of my rising sun.' You
know your Thackeray?"

"'Riche de ma jeunesse,'" laughed Paul. "Thackeray went one better
than Beranger, that time."

"I forgot," said Colonel Winwood. "My sister told me. You go about
with Beranger as a sort of pocket Bible."

Paul laughed again. "When one is on the tramp one's choice of books
is limited by their cubical content. One couldn't take Gibbon, for
instance, or a complete Balzac."

Colonel Winwood tugged at his drooping moustache and again
scrutinized the frank and exceedingly attractive youth. His
astonishing perfection of feature was obvious to anybody. Yet any
inconsiderable human--a peasant of the Campagna, a Venetian
gondolier, a swaggering brigand of Macedonia--could be
astonishingly beautiful. And, being astonishingly beautiful, that
was the beginning and end of him. But behind this merely physical
attractiveness of his guest glowed a lambent intelligence, quick as
lightning. There was humorous challenge in those laughing and lucent
dark eyes.