The meal concluded, Duprez helped himself to a tiny liqueur glass of Chartreuse, as a wind-up to the exertions of the day, a mild luxury in which the others joined him, with the exception of Macfarlane, who was wont to declare that a "mon without his whusky was nae mon at a'," and who, therefore, persisted in burning up his interior mechanism with alcohol in spite of the doctrines of hygiene, and was now absorbed in the work of mixing his lemon, sugar, hot water, and poison--his usual preparation for a night's rest.
Lorimer, usually conversational, watched him in abstracted silence.
Rallied on this morose humor, he rose, shook himself like a retriever, yawned, and sauntered to the piano that occupied a dim corner of the saloon, and began to play with that delicate, subtle touch, which, though it does not always mark the brilliant pianist, distinguishes the true lover of music, to whose ears a rough thump on the instrument, or a false note would be most exquisite agony.

Lorimer had no pretense to musical talent; asked, he confessed he could "strum a little," and he seemed to see the evident wonder and admiration he awakened in the minds of many to whom such "strumming" as his was infinitely more delightful than more practiced, finished playing.

Just now he seemed undecided,--he commenced a dainty little prelude of Chopin's, then broke suddenly off, and wandered into another strain, wild, pleading, pitiful, and passionate,--a melody so weird and dreamy that even the stolid Macfarlane paused in his toddy-sipping, and Duprez looked round in some wonderment.
"_Comme c'est beau, ca!_" he murmured.
Errington said nothing; he recognized the tune as that which Thelma had sung at her spinning-wheel, and his bold bright eyes grew pensive and soft, as the picture of the fair face and form rose up again before his mind.

Absorbed in a reverie, he almost started when Lorimer ceased playing, and said lightly-- "By-bye, boys! I'm off to bed! Phil, don't wake me so abominably early as you did this morning.

If you do, friendship can hold out no longer--we must part!" "All right!" laughed Errington good-humoredly, watching his friend as he sauntered out of the saloon; then seeing Duprez and Macfarlane rise from the table, he added courteously, "Don't hurry away on Lorimer's account, you two.