Contemporary Boy, charitably entered into the
case. He learned from me a short outline of
the Celestial Entertainment, with the names and
situations. " I know," said the humane bystander
— " I know the place. But bless you, my lad!
it's miles away from here. If you was to take
the best 'Ansom, and the best Oss as was in that
'Ansom, you wouldn't do it afore nine." "But,"
said I, timorously, and with a blankness of
despair coming over me, " we could walk, you know
— walk very fast." In the confusion of my senses
I did not see how this process could convey us
faster than cab and horse. But this I did see:
that it was all over with me for that night. And
so, wet, miserable physically, miserable morally,
I announced to the Contemporary Boy that we
were going home; and this quieted his dastard
soul.

The Retreat was accomplished with wonderful
skill, but under circumstances of terrible
hardship. It seemed to be all splash, soak, and
flounder. We were perpetually stumbling into
puddles— a minor trouble— yet I know not if it
were not the sorest of all our miseries. After
prodigies of generalship we reached our own
door. The maid who opened it was all in a
fright. We presented a piteous spectacle, as
though newly taken out of the water by the
grapnels of the Humane Society's men. But I
had presence of mind to caution her to strict
silence; and we crept up-stairs to bed. The
state of the stair-carpeting after our passage
was (I was afterwards informed on good authority)
a subject of grief and scandal to the person
whose duty it was to look after that department.
Hot drinks were suggested; an offer greedily
caught at by the Contemporary Boy. I accepted
it languidly, on sanitary grounds, for indeed I
was growing indifferent to life. This last blow
and stroke of ill success had finished me. I
looked on myself as separated from the Queen of
My Soul for ever, and I buried my head in fine
linen and blankets, supremely wretched. I was
shivering all down the back, and very hot and
dry about the throat.

By-and-by came home Honest John Plusher
and his wife. I heard them knock, I heard their
voices on the stairs, as in wonder; for it was
early, and they expected to see us up. I was
quivering and rattling and chattering my teeth,
when lights flashed in the room, and Honest John
stood over me.

"Halloa!" he cried, in his cheerful way,
"what's all this?" (Just as I had feared, the
craven Contemporary Boy had betrayed me.)
"Come, come, we shall be all right again in the
morning, hey, shan't we?" And yet I detected a
wounded tone in Honest John's manner, which
pained me to the quick. " Why," he said,
"couldn't you have told me? Old John would
have been game for a second go at the pantomime,
if you had asked him. You might have
trusted me, my boy, instead of stealing off, and
half killing yourself." This was indeed heaping
on coals of fire. Deceive Honest John on mere
common grounds? no, not for worlds, not for all
the cakes, apples, theatres, and pocket
eight-bladed knives (with ingenious appliance for
removing a stone out of a horse's shoe) in the
world! But here I was, racked with a gnawing
passion for a Celestial Being of ambrosial
make, a passion which was consuming me as
with slow fire. Surely there was some excuse.
John went on in the same mournfully
injured way, heaping on the coals of fire as with
a shovel. " If you had told me, my boy, we
could have fixed for to-morrow night, taken a
cab, and done the thing decently. I thought you
and I knew one another better than that. I don't
care much for the sort of thing myself, except
just once and away; but if you had told me,
or—— " I could bear it no longer. " O John!
John!" I said, "I am a wretched, miserable,
broken-hearted boy;" and, drawing down his
head to me, with much confusion, and I believe
with tears, told him my state of mind.

Why had I not confided in him? Why?
In all my life I never experienced such nobility,
such true nobleness, responsive to my confidence.
He entered into it like a thorough gentleman;
understood it perfectly, sympathised pitifully.
He comforted and compassionated me. He
soothed my poor wrung heart. Nay, more—
wonderful to relate— he promised to assist me
to the utmost of his power. A thrill passed
over me, in addition to the physical aguish
thrill. I could not believe my senses. "Yes,
yes," said Honest John, with mystery. "You
must go to sleep now. But I have thought of
a scheme; we will plan it all together in the
morning. Hush! not a word more to-night.
Rely on me. Mrs. Mountjack is the very
woman."

Mrs. Mountjack the very woman! Why?
How singular! What could it mean? But
Cousin John was a man of deep purpose, and
when he spoke, spoke what he meant to do. I
allowed the image of the divine and radiant
Being to rise before me clothed in light, held
with her a short and rapturous conversation, and
dropped away into sweeter dreams.

How mysterious are the workings of fate! In
the morning I rose fresh and perfectly restored to
health, while the craven Contemporary Boy was,
according to the strange metaphor, as hoarse as a
drum. His eyes were swollen frightfully in his
head. I could not but interpret this as just
retribution for his abject behaviour of the
previous night.

Honest John and I had a private interview in
the parlour before breakfast. I again told him
candidly my views, which were of the most
honourable tenor. I seemed to myself of a
sudden to have grown a man. I spoke calmly
and composedly. I would go through with
it, I said. But to come to details. What of
this Mrs. Mountjack, the person to whom
allusion had been made the night before?

Then Honest John unfolded. His statement
was full and satisfactory, and left nothing