mother's love from harrying him. Best and greatest lady in the world, my
wife, but she's rather apt to jog the bridle now and then."

At this moment Paul joined them. His paleness showed less than usual
beneath the sunburn, and his eyes seemed almost bright. A wave of thankful
gladness filled his father's heart.

"Thank God," he said, below his breath. "Thank God."

The weather had been perfection, hardly a drop of rain, and just the
gentlest breezes to waft them slowly along. A suitable soothing idle life
for one who had but lately been near death. And each day Paul's strength
returned, until his father began to hope they might still be home for his
birthday the last day of July. They had crept up the coast of Italy now,
when an absolute calm fell upon them, and just opposite the temple of
Paestum they decided to anchor for the night.

For the last evenings, as the moon had grown larger, Paul had been
strangely restless. It seemed as if he preferred to tire himself out with
unnecessary rope-pulling, and then retire to his berth the moment that
dinner was over, rather than go on deck. His face, too, which had been
controlled as a mask until now, wore a look of haunting anguish which was
grievous to see. He ate his dinner--or rather, pretended to play with the
food--in absolute silence.

Uneasiness overcame Sir Charles, and he glanced at his old friend. But
Paul, after lighting a cigar, and letting it out once or twice, rose, and
murmuring something about the heat, went up on deck.

It was the night of the full moon--eight weeks exactly since the joy of