Nevertheless, it was his very silence which attracted Frithiof; had he spoken, had he argued, had he put forth the usual platitudes, the two would have been forever separated. But he just leaned against the window-frame, looking out at the dark river, musing over the story he had just heard, and wondering what the meaning of it could be. The “Why?” which had been the last broken ejaculation of the dead man echoed in the hearts of these two who had been brought together so strangely. Into Roy’s mind there came the line, “’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.” But he had a strong feeling that in Frithiof’s case sorrow would harden and imbitter; indeed, it seemed to him already that his companion’s whole nature was changed. It was almost difficult to believe that he was the same high-spirited boy who had been the life of the party at Balholm, who had done the honors of the villa in Kalvedalen so pleasantly. And then as he contrasted that bright, homely room at Bergen with this dark, forlorn hotel room in London, a feeling that he must get his companion away into some less dreary atmosphere took possession of him. “Don’t stay all alone in this place,” he said abruptly. “Come home with me to-night.” “You are very good,” said Frithiof, “but I don’t think I can do that. I am better alone, and indeed must make up my mind to-night as to the future.” “You will go back to Norway, I suppose?” asked Roy. “Yes, I suppose so; as soon as possible. To-morrow I must see if there is any possibility of getting back in fair time. Unluckily, it is too late for the Wilson Line steamer, which must be starting at this minute from Hull.” “I will come in to-morrow, then, and see what you have decided on,” said Roy. “Is there nothing I can do for you now?” “Nothing, thank you,” said Frithiof. And Roy, feeling that he could be of no more use, and that his presence was perhaps a strain on his friend, wished him good-night and went out. The next day he was detained by business and could not manage to call at the Arundel till late in the afternoon. Noticing the same waiter in the hall who had been present on the previous evening, he inquired if Frithiof were in. “Herr Falck has gone, sir,” said the man; “he went off about an hour ago.” “Gone!” exclaimed Roy, in some surprise. “Did he leave any message?” “No, sir; none at all. He was looking very ill when he came down this morning, but went out as soon as he had had breakfast, and didn’t come back till four o’clock. Then he called for his bill and ordered his portmanteau to be brought down and put on a hansom, and as he passed out he gave me a trifle, and said he had spoken a bit sharp to me last night, he was afraid, and thanked me for what I had done for him. And so he drove off, sir.” “You didn’t hear where he was going to?” “No, sir; I can’t say as I did. The cab, if I remember right, turned along the Embankment, toward Charing Cross.”