  Next day, much to Galaghetti's sorrow, we suddenly brought our stay in Venice to a conclusion, and set off for Paris. The Queen of the Adriatic had lost her charm for us, and for once in our lives we were not sorry to say good-bye to her. The train left the station, crossed the bridge to the mainland, and was presently speeding on her way across Europe. Ever since the morning Miss Trevor's spirits had been steadily improving. She seemed to have become her old self in a few hours, and Glenbarth's delight was beautiful to witness. He had been through a good deal, poor fellow, and deserved some recompense for it. We had been upwards of an hour upon our way, when my wife made a curious remark. "Good gracious!" she said, "in our hurry to get away we have quite forgotten to say good-bye to Doctor Nikola!" I saw Miss Trevor give a little shudder. "Do you know," she said, "I had such a curious dream about him last night. I dreamt that I saw him standing in the courtyard of a great building on a mountain-side. He was dressed in a strange sort of yellow gown, not unlike that worn by the Buddhist priests, and was worn almost to a shadow and looked very old. He approached me, and taking my hands, said something that, in the commonplace light of day, doesn't seem to have much sense in it. But I know it affected me very much at the time." "What was it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "It was this," she answered—"'Remember that I have forgiven; it is for you to forget.' What could he have meant?" "Since it is only a dream, it is impossible to say," observed my wife, and thus saved me the danger of attempting a solution. To bring my long narrative to a conclusion I might say that the Duke and Miss Trevor were married last May. They spent their honeymoon yachting to the West Indies. Some one proposed that they should visit Venice; indeed, the Earl of Sellingbourne, who had lately purchased the Palace Revecce, and had furnished it, by the way, from the Tottenham Court Road, placed it at their disposal. From what I have been told I When the wind howls round the house at night and the world seems very lonely, I sometimes try to picture a monastery on a mountain-side, and then, in my fancy, I see a yellow-robed, mysterious figure, whose dark, searching eyes look into mine with a light that is no longer of this world. To him I cry— "FAREWELL, NIKOLA!" THE END Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, Novels by Guy Boothby. SPECIAL AND ORIGINAL DESIGNS. Each volume attractively Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood and others. Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Trimmed Edges, 5s.
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