Myles was conscious of no bad conduct or evil intentions, but only of a great, ever-growing misery, which was so strong as to force him to try in some way to escape from it, and this was the only path which presented itself as practicable; so he took it, as is generally the case. He walked up to the front door, past the open windows with the lace curtains fluttering inside, and pulled the bell. An unpleasant fear seized him, lest Sebastian should be out, gone to see Adrienne, perhaps, and he would have his hard task to do all over again. A page-boy opened the door, and Myles inquired if Mr. Mallory were at home. ‘I believe so,’ said the youth, a little wondering at the unusual visitor. ‘I wish to see him,’ said Myles, stepping in, ‘if he is not engaged, that is; and my business is rather particular.’ The boy, after serious consideration, decided to show the visitor into the library, and asked him to take a seat. This he did, and inquired, ‘Who shall I say wishes to see him?’ ‘Tell him that Myles Heywood would be glad to speak to him, if he is disengaged.’ The page disappeared. Myles was left alone in the library, and his quick, restless eyes roamed round it, and took everything in, and the full significance of everything--the soft carpets, the harmonious, subdued hues of walls, hangings, and furniture; the relief afforded by gleams of gold here and there; the book-cases filled with books of all times and in all languages; the great bronze busts of Aristotle and Sophocles; the quaint blue and white vases; the two curious paintings by Sebastian’s favourite German artist; the reading-stands; the writing-tables; the pleasant luxury and taste, and abundance of every appointment. ‘No wonder!’ said he to himself. ‘And between the man and me--his manners and mine, his mind and mine--there is just the same difference as there is between this library of his and our little flagged kitchen at home. This is the place for her, and I feel as if I could see her here sitting at that writing-table, or standing in the window there looking out.’ He heaved a deep sigh, and at that moment some one began to play a melody on a piano in another room; a soft, sad, melancholy air, to which he listened so intently that he did not hear the door open, and was first roused by Sebastian’s voice. ‘Good evening. I am sorry to have kept you waiting; but I was engaged and could not escape.’ ‘Don’t mention it,’ said Myles, rising; and as each man’s eyes fell upon the other man’s face, both felt surprise. Sebastian almost showed his, in a suppressed exclamation, but Myles was too sad and oppressed to experience more than a vague wonder and astonishment that a man in what he thought was Sebastian’s position should wear that subdued, grave, downcast look. ‘I noticed that you were not in your place to-day,’ began Mallory, by way of opening the conversation; ‘nothing wrong at home, I hope?’