life of the cities you would be a sentimentalist."

"No city nor any civilised country will ever claim me again," Dominey
sighed. "I should never have the courage to face what might come."

Von Ragastein rose to his feet. The dim outline of his erect form was in
a way majestic. He seemed to tower over the man who lounged in the chair
before him.

"Finish your whisky and soda to our next meeting, friend of my school
days," he begged. "To-morrow, before you awake, I shall be gone."

"So soon?"

"By to-morrow night," Von Ragastein replied, "I must be on the other
side of those mountains. This must be our farewell."

Dominey was querulous, almost pathetic. He had a sudden hatred of
solitude.

"I must trek westward myself directly," he protested, "or eastward, or
northward--it doesn't so much matter. Can't we travel together?"

Von Ragastein shook his head.

"I travel officially, and I must travel alone," he replied. "As for
yourself, they will be breaking up here to-morrow, but they will lend
you an escort and put you in the direction you wish to take. This, alas,
is as much as I can do for you. For us it must be farewell."