"I tell you what I wish I could do, Evelyn," said the other, laughing: "I wish I could turn over everything I have got to you, and escape scot-free to America and start my own life free and unencumbered." "And alone?" His face grew grave again. "There is nothing possible else!" said he. It was nearly eight o'clock when he left. As he walked along Piccadilly, a clear and golden twilight was shining over the trees in the Green Park. All around him was the roar of the London streets; but it was not that that he heard. Was it not rather the sound of a soft, low voice, and the silvery notes of the zither? His memory acted as a sea-shell, and brought him an echo from other days and other climes. "Behold the beautiful night--the wind sleeps drowsily--the silent shores slumber in the dark: "Sul placido elemento Vien meco a navigar! "The soft wind moves--as it stirs among the leaves--it moves and dies--among the murmur of the water: "Lascia l'amico tetto, Vien meco a navigar! "Now on the spacious mantle--of the already darkening heavens--see, oh the shining wonder--how the white stars tremble: "Sul l'onde addormentate Vien meco a navigar!" This was the voice that he heard amidst the roar of the London streets. Would he hear it far away on the wide Atlantic, with the shores of England hidden behind the mists of rain? To-night was to decide what the future of his life was to be. If Natalie had appeared at this moment, and said to him, "Dearest, let it be as my father wishes;" or if Lord Evelyn had frankly declared to him that it was his duty to surrender his possessions to this Society to which he had devoted his life, there would have been not a moment's hesitation. But now he was going to see a man whom he suspected and was inclined to hate, and his nature began to harden. It would be a question between one man of the world and another. Sentiment would be put aside. He would no longer be played with. A man should be master of his own affairs. This was what he said to himself. But he had quite forgotten his determination to consider this matter as if no Natalie existed; and his resolve to exclude sentiment altogether did not interfere with the fact that always, if unconsciously, there remained in his mind a certain picture he had been dreaming a good deal about of late. It was a picture of an old-fashioned rose-garden in the light of an English summer morning, with a young wife walking there, herself taller and fairer than any flower. Would she sing, in her gladness, the songs of other lands, to charm the sweet English air? There was that one about _O dolce Napoli!--o suol beato!_-- When he got to Lisle Street, every one had arrived except Molyneux himself. Mr. Lind was gravely polite to him. Of course no mention could then be made about private affairs; the talk going on was all about the East, and how certain populations were faring.