It was the wintry weather which was his own, and Alice's face, framed in a cloak, as he had seen it at the Broken Bridge, rose in the gallery of his heart.

In a moment he was disillusioned.

Success, enterprise, new lands and faces seemed the most dismal vexation of spirit.

With a very bitter heart he walked home, and, after the fashion of his silent kind, gave no sign of his mood save by a premature and unreasonable retirement to bed..