C arnival was over. February had passed, like January, for most of the fellows, in a bad dream of unpaid bills. March was going in much the same way. This is the best account Clifford, Elliott and Rowden could have given of it. Thaxton and Rhodes were working. Carleton was engaged to a new pretty girl—the sixth or seventh. Satan found the time passing delightfully. There was no one at present to restrain him when he worried Mrs Gummidge. The tabby daily grew thinner and sadder-eyed. The parrot grew daily more blasé. He sneered more and more bitterly, and his eyelid, when closed, struck a chill to the soul of the raven. At first the pups were unhappy. They missed their master. But they were young, and flies were getting plentiful in the studio. For Braith the nights and the days seemed to wind themselves in an endless chain about Rex’s sickbed. But when March had come and gone Rex was out of danger, and Braith began to paint again on his belated picture. It was too late, now, for the Salon; but he wanted to finish it all the same. One day, early in April, he came back to Gethryn after an unusually long absence at his own studio. Rex was up and trying to dress. He turned a peaked face toward his friend. His eyes were two great hollows, and when he smiled and spoke, in answer to Braith’s angry exclamation, his jaws worked visibly. “Keep cool, old chap!” he said, in the ghost of a voice. “What are you getting up for, all alone?” “Had to—tired of the bed. Try it yourself—six weeks!” “You want to go back there and never quit it alive—that’s what you want,” said Braith, nervously. “Don’t, either. Come and button this collar and stop swearing.” “I suppose you’re going back to Julien’s the day after tomorrow,” said Braith, sarcastically, after Rex was dressed and had been helped to the lounge in the studio. “No,” said he, “I’m going to Arcachon tomorrow.” “Arca—- twenty thousand thunders!” “Not at all,” smiled Rex—a feeble, willful smile. Braith sat down and drew his chair beside Gethryn. “Wait a while, Rex.” “I can’t get well here, you know.” “But you can get a bit stronger before you start on such a journey.” “I thought the doctor told you the sooner I went south the better.” That was true; Braith was silent a while. At last he said, “I have all the money you will want till your own comes, you know, and I can get you ready by the end of this week, if you will go.” Rex was no baby, but his voice shook when he answered. “Dear old, kind, unselfish friend! I’d almost rather remain poor, and let you keep on taking care of me, but—see here—” and he handed him a letter. “That came this morning, after you left.” Braith read it eagerly, and looked up with a brighter face than he had worn for many a day. “By Jove!” he said. “By Jupiter!” Rex smiled sadly at his enthusiasm. “This means health, and a future, and—everything to you, Rex!” “Health and wealth, and happiness,” said Gethryn bitterly.