Then commenced Gerald's search for Emilia, a search not only without a clue to guide him, but with a cunning man at his elbow, suggesting that they should go here and there, where he was certain there was chance of finding her. There were times, however, when Gerald himself said he would go to such and such a house and make inquiries, and Leonard never opposed him. It was his one wish to keep Gerald in the town, and he breathed no hint of his conviction that Emilia had flown from it. Everything was against Gerald; it was late when the search commenced, and at an hour past midnight he and Leonard stood in the quiet streets, gazing at each other, Gerald helplessly, Leonard inquiringly. "Where now, Gerald?" "God knows! I think I am losing my mind." "May I make a suggestion, dear boy?" "Yes, Len." "You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a little common-sense into our sad position?" "How can I blame you, Len--you, the truest friend that a man ever had? Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life--to find Emilia. I can think of nothing but her." "Then I may make my suggestion?" "Yes." "Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests." "I do, Len." "Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed----" "Len!" "There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable." "I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia." "All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall we turn?" Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of pathetic weariness. "You are tired, Len." Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy! Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow. Let's be moving." "No, Len, I don't see much use in it." "It is not I who say that, Gerald." "No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?" Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the bells. "Two o'clock, Gerald." "What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to his companion. "She is asleep, I should say." "No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me, as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear brother; have you ever been in love?" "Yes, Gerald," replied Leonard, quietly. "And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it end?" "Do not ask me, Gerald." "Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?" Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated, "She is dead? I am sorry, very sorry." "You need not be. She lives." "How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure."