More than ever sad and weary he seemed as he seated himself in front of a large wood fire he had ordered to be made. A pretence of lunch or dinner had been gone through, and the short November day was already closing in, the heavy stonework above the windows adding not a little to the gloom of the room. Lord Hardcastle had tried unsuccessfully various topics of conversation, feeling the necessity of arousing Mr. Warden from the sadness of his own thoughts. “Tell me, Mr. Warden,” at length he said, almost despairing of success, “something about Le Puy; it is an unknown land to me. I have never visited that part of France.” “Le Puy!” exclaimed Mr. Warden, suddenly arousing himself, “Ah, that is a country worth living in! It is a land of variety and beauty, of sunshine and solitude; less terrible than Switzerland, it is, at the same time, more interesting, because more varied. It is a land of extinct volcanoes; at every turn one is brought face to face with nature under a new aspect. Here some mighty convulsion has upheaved gigantic rocks; there in the valley lie fertile plains watered by gushing mountain torrents; above all tower and frown the fantastic Cevennes, cut and fashioned into all sorts of wonderful shapes, and everywhere reigns a silence and solitude only to be found in the lonely mountain regions. Ah! it is a land of glory and beauty! But, my young friend, you will scarcely see it with my eyes; to me it is the saddest and sweetest of all lands, for there I first loved and first suffered, and there my two Aimées were born and grew to beauty.” Then he paused, and presently added, in a mournful, passionate tone, “My poor little Amy! I fancy I see her now, creeping along the narrow mountain path, or looking over the verge of some deep ravine, both hands filled with wild flowers and grasses. She would never own to feeling frightened or nervous at the giddy height, but if she felt her little feet slipping, she would call out impatiently, ‘Papa, papa! take my flowers, quickly please, I must not be kept waiting an instant.’ It is almost too much for me to recall those days, Lord Hardcastle,” he sighed, wearily, “I think I will see if I can get a little sleep; perhaps in the morning I shall feel brighter and stronger.” Then he left the room, saying good-night, and that he did not wish to be disturbed until the morning. Lord Hardcastle looked after him sadly. “He will reach Le Puy,” he thought; “his spirit will keep him up as far as that, but he will never come back again. Have I done wisely in inducing him to leave his home? But what home has he left? Only a mere skeleton or husk of one. This is our last and only chance; we are bound, at any cost to try it.” The wood fire crackled and burned, the window panes grew dark and darker, and long, fantastic shadows began to flicker across the oak-panelled wall, to the low, arched ceiling.