Then he was gone, and Roy returned with his father to M. Courant's house, a heavy sense of blank weighing upon them both. Ivor's was a personality which never failed to make itself felt, and he had largely the power of winning affection, without apparent effort. The difference made in their little circle by his departure was more than could beforehand have been imagined. Not in their own little circle only. Many in Verdun knew that they had lost a valued friend that day; and even downstairs Denham was strangely missed. Somebody else, besides Roy, shed at night a few quiet tears, when nobody could see. Lucille herself was perplexed at the acute consciousness which clung to her of Captain Ivor's absence. Somehow, she had not of late thought a very great deal of that poor young De Bertrand, whose image once had filled her thoughts. Not that she forgot him, but that other thoughts and other interests had taken possession of the foreground of her mind. (_To be continued._) FOOTNOTES: [2] The word, used thus, means simply “mansion.” [3] “Bitche, of which place I had received such accounts, as left scarce a doubt of death being preferable.” Quoted from Major-General Lord Blayney, Prisoner of War at Verdun, from 1810-1814. [4] The Commandant of Verdun had power, as he willed, to transfer détenus and prisoners of war from one dépôt to another. FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS. [Illustration: A DRAGOMAN.] PART III. ENGAGING A DRAGOMAN. We had been strongly advised by our Jaffa friends to take as guide for our long journeys a young English-speaking man living in Jerusalem. He was represented as thoroughly trustworthy and intelligent, besides being willing to fall in with our plans, rather than insisting upon our falling in with his. This was exactly the man we needed, and as the travellers' season was at its height, one of our first duties must be to find him. With this object in view we started one morning in search of his home. Two rival dragomen, of whom we inquired the way, assured us that Ameen--for so I will call him--was in Damascus with a party, and would not return for forty days. As this gratuitous information was imparted to us with unnecessary vehemence and exaggerated regrets, we distrusted its veracity and continued our search. Ameen's dwelling seemed to be hidden away in some remote region “far from the madding crowd,” but after many false turnings, we at length espied a neat little house standing in a garden, and a neat little woman with a baby in her arms standing in the doorway. We opened the gate and walked up the path to the young woman. “Does Ameen live here, and is he at home?” we asked in English. For answer she smiled, pointed to a divan inside the house, and by signs invited us to go in and “sit.” We did so, and continued our conversation by smiling inanely at each other, for our hostess evidently understood no other language but her own barbarous Arabic, which was the more disappointing as no Ameen was visible. He