one day, made me promise to spend the whole of
it with her: dining at the table d'hôte of her
hotel, at which only a quiet party of some ten
or twelve usually assembled.

Descending to the saloon at the usual
summons, we found, to our utter surprise, not less
than a hundred and twenty persons already
seated; the board, in fact, seemed full. We
had not thought it necessary to retain places,
and were hesitating in what direction to move,
when the landlord himself, accosting us with
civil smiles, marshalled us to the upper end of
the table. Here he had, as he informed us,
reserved the two seats he judged to be most
accordant with the wishes of mesdames.

Charmed with his politeness, we accepted
the seats provided: thus filling up the only gap
at the table, with the exception of the single
place at the top, where stood a remarkably large
chair, still unoccupied.

It seemed to us that an unusual air of hilarity
pervaded the party. There was a kind of
carnival look in the appointments of the room and
table, and even the air and step of the nimble
waiters announced of something beyond the
common routine of festivity. The cheerfulness
of the scene, joined to the presence of my old
friend, raised my spirits to an unusual pitch; I
was speculating gaily as to what manner of neighbour
I should have on my left, when a sudden
pause ensued in the clatter of plates and tongues,
followed by an eager buzz. Every head was
turned in our direction. Many of the gentlemen
half rose, as if in respect, or curiosity; a group
of waiters opened; there was a heavy step, a
mighty black and white cloud—the GIANT was
seated at my side!

How I felt when this fact established itself in
my mind I will not seek to describe. I knew I
must not faint, nor make a scene, nor even
contrive a pretext to withdraw. In short, I flatter
myself I acted on that trying occasion in a manner
which, under other circumstances, would
have obtained for me the character of a heroine.

To do the huge man justice, he behaved with
all consideration. No gentleman could have
demeaned himself—no ten gentlemen—of
ordinary size—could have demeaned themselves
—with more refined courtesy. His recognition
was not so marked as to draw any
especial attention to myself. He was far more
collected than at our first meeting, and chatted
in a lively tone with all who were within reach:
particularly with my friend, who, far from
evincing surprise or alarm, appeared delighted
at the good fortune that had placed us in the
immediate vicinity of the lion of the hour.

Upon what meats, or in what respective
quantities the giant fed, I cannot say. I know that
three chosen waiters, active powerful men, danced
a perpetual reel about his chair, relieving each
other in the administration of vast plates of
something. Also, that before the close of that
tremendous meal, a perfect little semicircle of
bottles formed a chevaux-de-frise between us.

The dinner seemed interminable. I do not
think I could have borne the situation five
minutes longer, when my friend rose. At the
moment, the giant bent forward his enormous
head, and whispered—what I know not. I was
far too agitated to know. Enough that my retreat
was effected. I was panting for air, and begged
my friend to walk with me into one of the shady
garden terraces, where, leaving me seated in a
little trellised bower, she went back to the house
to make some change in her dress.

No sooner had she quitted me than my spirits
suddenly gave way. I burst into a violent flood
of tears. I don't know if I have made it plain
to the reader; but, to me, it was all too certain
that I had by some strange fatality made an
impression on the heart or fancy of this too
susceptible monster. He did not want to eat me.
On that score my mind was at rest. He was
a kind monster and a gentle. But could
anything be more unfortunate—more absurd? A
creature whose presence, harmless as he was,
filled me with fear and horror! Morbid as
might be the antipathy, I could no more overcome
it than I could have wrestled successfully
with the giant himself. What was to be done?
Nothing, but resume my flight, and keep my
movements as secret as possible. "Oh, giant!
giant!" I sobbed out audibly; "why—why is
this——"

"This what?" said a voice close at hand.
There was a loud rustle among the trees, a step
that nearly shook down the arbour, the giant
was kneeling before me! Even in that position
his mighty head towered far above me. He
caught my hand.

"Speak, speak, dearest; most generous of——
Eh! ha!"

I had fainted again.

In the course of that evening, I should say
that nearly the entire population of the place
informed themselves, either by direct inquiries at
the hotel, or otherwise, that the English madame
who had fainted while sitting with Monsieur
O'Leary ("son prétendu") in the arbour, was
as well as a slight fluttering of the nerves
permitted. It was understood that the marriage
would not take place until monsieur had
fulfilled several important provincial engagements,
when the young people would be united at Paris,
and proceed at once to their residence, Castle
O'Leary, Ballyshandra, Tipperary.

That night I made all needful preparations,
bade adieu to my friend, and by noon next day
was at our obscure little village, sixty miles off,
and as remote from railway, or any other
communication, as possible. Here, I drew free breath.
I had bribed my postilions to conceal my route,
I had ordered my letters to be forwarded in a
different direction, and taken other precautions
which could not fail to secure my object.

I was very happy in that forgotten little
village. I had lodgings in a farm-house, and
(barring industry) lived the life of its merry and
contented inhabitants: rising at half-past four,
dining at noon, and going to rest when the first
bat began to circle round the thatched porch.
The sweet summer fled away only too rapidly,
but duties recalled me to the busy world, and,