The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-08-18

yet to remain an ordinary English gentleman.
 On the night when the new mem- Der was to take his seat, went down to the house rather earlier than usual, with some feeling of curiosity, for all
 had heard about him made me think it must be the same. I wondered whether such singular and varied ex- periences as his must have been had tanned the fanatic, and how much al- tered he would be.
 Altered he certainly was. It might have been man of fifty that advanced to take the oath before the table. His long legs and the short coat buttoned about his spare form still gave it the indescribable schoolboy appearance I remembered long ago-all his coats were always too short, somehow or other, for Atherstone-bu little else remained of the ardent, impetuous youth who always walked at 8 gal loping pace, and generally talked in a sort ofjoyful shout or bray, as I used to call it then.
 All his old buoyant, and to me quite aggressive, animation was gone. He stopped a little; he carried his head bent instead of triumphantly aloft; his cheeks, always thin, were now quite hollow and bronzed; he was beginning to get bald, and his fair hair was already quite grizzled. he had sombre, almost fierce express sion, though this latter quality may have been due to he great mustachios, which were quite in character with a Mazzinian conspirator. But noticed when he was speaking to one of his supporters what peculiarly sweet smile he had, though this momentary lightning gave way again immediately to the look of settled gloom and de- pression.
 We met presently in the lobby, and greeted one another with that min- gling of incoherent heartiness and en- barrassment which usually character izes Englishmen on such occasions. However, we were rescued by one of the ministers beginning to speak, and accordingly prepared to hurry back to our seats. I bethought myself of asking him to come down and spend the following Sunday at my country house on the Thames.
 "I should like to of all things" he said, passing his hand through his hair in perplexity "but there's Luigi, you see. I can never leave Luigi"
 "Luigi?" l repeated interrogatively. It was 30 like Atherstone of old to speak in this allusive strain, and for get that he needed an interpreter for his conversation.
 "Luigi Bellamonte," explained Atherstone. "Oh, to be sure, you couldn't know; forgot"
 "BellamOnte cried. The ice was quite broken between us now. "Of course remember him perfectly. So he has come back to England all right! And is the contessa with him, too2 If so, pray beg them both to come with you."
 Atherstone's face darkened. He turned abruptly away. dts neither of them," he said in low voice "but the son they left, from whom I never part"
 Fresh mysteries here. "Well, bring him with you at any rate," I said. And, Atherstone,if you could manage to let me know by what train to ex- pect you, I will send the carriage to the station to meet you. It's five miles away, remember" But recall ing his habits at Balliol, I reflected that he must have changed indeed if he proved capable of this of forethought.
 On Saturday went down to Green field and waited. No word, of course, from my expected guest. had brought a nephew of sixteen or seventeen down with me, 8 Harrow boy, to entertain this Luigi of Atherstone's. It was @ perfect June day. The fresh woods below in the valley were loud with the singing of birds, the river flashed out between them, blue in the sum- shine; the lawns were whitened with falling blossoms from the chestnut and may trees, the air was laden with thousand scents. The carriage de- parted to spend the afternoon at the station, and towards six o'clock Con- way and I, lying on the short grass beside the drive, heard the wheels turning in at the upper gate.
 We jumped up as they approached, and Atherstone sprang out in a dis jointed sort of way. A pale youth, about eighteen or nineteen, with large dark eyes and black curly hair, sat still in his place, smiling vaguely and sweetly, but without speaking or moving. He looked to me like pale ghost of the brilliant young Italian who had bid us all good bye SO gayly twelve years before, but the eyes were the eyes of Margherita Bellamonte; it was absolutely startling.
 Atherstone turned to him when he