singed through into his heart.

"A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street
boys crying the news of an appalling suicide, and I know
now that it must have been he. After the first shock of
my grief had passed, I sought to keep him in my memory
by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have
some skill in the art, and I feel assured that I have
caught the expression of his face. The picture is, of
course, an ideal one, for, as you know, I never saw
Fifty-Six."

The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the
entrance of a customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of
quiet resignation that habitually marked his demeanour,
and remained for some time in the shop. When he returned
he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost
friend. I left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home
to my lodgings. On my way I mused much upon my little
Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp of his imagination.
But a burden lay heavy on my heart--something I would
fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention.
I could not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle
of his fancy. For my life has been secluded and lonely
and I have known no love like that of my ideal friend.
Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge
bundle of washing that I sent to him about a year ago.
I had been absent from town for three weeks and my laundry
was much larger than usual in consequence. And if I
mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered shirt that