The young man lay back in his chair, lightly holding his cigar, and carelessly following the smoke with his eye.

The beauty and intelligence of his face, the indolent grace of his person, seen in the soft light of the lamp, and set like a picture in the voluptuous refinement of the room, touched the imagination and the heart of the older man.

There was a look of earnest, yearning entreaty in his eyes as he said, "Abel, you remember Milton's Comus ?" The young man bowed.
"Do you think the revelers were happy ?" Abel smiled, but did not answer.

But after a few minutes he said, with a smile, "I was not there." "You _are_ there," answered Lawrence Newt, with uplifted finger, and in a voice so sad and clear that Abel started.
The two men looked at each other silently for a few moments.
"Good-night, Abel." "Good-night, Uncle Lawrence." The door closed behind the older man.

Abel sat in his chair, intently thinking.