wonder," added the captain, wistfully, "if they
would let us manage things in the sensible way
they do in France? I am afraid you can hardly go
to the judge and offer anything of that kind"
(his hand was on the steel purse). "Hardly, I
think. He's too tip-top. But I know, when I
and Colonel Cameron went over to Paris after
the peace, we got into some foolish 'footy' row"
(another favourite word of the captain's), "and
knocked down a tradesman fellow, and was taken
up and brought before a Shoes de Pay. And,
egad, a very nice Frenchman, that took us about
and dined with us—as gentlemanly a young
fellow as ever stepped—put me up to it; and
faith, we both went together and called on the
Shoes de Pay, quite a nobleman, my dear, and
before we went he took three napoleons of
mine, and wasn't the least offended. Wasn't it
odd? No, we could hardly do that to the judge."

It has been mentioned that she was of an
excitable and spasmodic turn of mind, taking hold
of new things, and especially of matters which
were likely to be withheld from her, with an
eagerness proportioned to the denial. She began
to fret and chafe about the decision of the court.
She confounded Mr. Tillotson by saying, one
evening, that it was the only thing she had to
look to, for if it failed she would be a beggar.

"A beggar!" he said, in astonishment. "My
dear child, surely we have a sufficient fortune?"

"Ah! you have," she said, with great energy.

He shook his head, and could not understand
her. That very day, at their dinner, she
suddenly, as it were coming to a resolution, said
very nervously, "You know those Miss
Tilneys?"

He looked up. "Yes," he said, "a little—a
very little."

"A very little," repeated young Mrs. Tillotson,
colouring, and with something like scorn.
"And why don't you see them now? I thought
you were quite intimate."

"You know," he answered, quietly, "they
live away from town. But would you like to
know——"

"Ah! I dare say," said she, trembling. "It
would be a nice arrangement! Suppose we
asked one of these Miss Tilneys on a visit?"

"Miss Tilney on a visit!" he repeated,
wondering; then gave a sigh. This wearied him.
"Why should we do that? You would not care
for them, or like them. I have never spoken ten
words to them in all my life."

He said this so firmly and truthfully that she
became silent, and saw that she was mistaken.
She puzzled and mystified over it, and consulted
with the grim Martha.

"Ah! that is what Mr. Tillotson says. Of
course he would like to tell you everything.
Why should you know the secrets of his life
before marriage?"

"But I believe him, Martha," she said,
firmly.

"Ah! of course you do," said that cold
waiting-woman. "If I had only time. No
matter."

She hardly slept the night before the judgment,
and it was her pressing importunity and
eagerness that forced Mr. Tillotson to give up
business and take her down to the court. She
sat there, working herself into a fever, and with
her hands clasped, listening to the judges as if
they were bishops and clergymen. But she
could not understand or follow them, and it was
long before she could see that she was the being
alluded to as "the appellant," or follow the
mysterious advantages or losses which fell to her
side under that description. With a little pencil
she checked off "her judges" and his judges.
And it was with the most mournful hopeless face
in the world that she struck the balance. She
never said anything, but rose to go. Mr. Tillotson
pressed her arm.

"Don't lose hope, dear. We may win yet.
Everything was a little against us."

As they passed out, the first person they met
was Mr. Tilney, who came from the body of the
court, and who seemed a little anxious to escape
observation. He was the old Mr. Tilney
wonderfully recruited, and with the old stick which
he had carried away from St. Alans.

"My dear Tillotson," he said, "and Mrs.——

Am I right? Ah, yes. This is very painful, my
dear Tillotson, and I am really concerned, I am
indeed. And though I wish our wild friend
well, naturally, you will allow, still you know
what I must feel to you, Tillotson, who have
stood by me shoulder to shoulder, as I may say.
Goodness, goodness! when I look back! But
still, our friend's victory, so far, is a mere stage—
a stage. It may topple over like a pack of cards.
By the way, they are waiting here, in the cab.
Ross has run away, to speak to his attorney."

"Excuse me," said Mr. Tillotson, deeply
feeling for his wife. "We must go now.
Another time."

"But they will want to see you, my dear
friend. We never see you. And there—do you
see your old friend, Ada Millwood, in the
window? Ah, sir, sir! She will never forget that
night. A noble girl, sir, that deserves to be well
settled in life."

The eyes of young Mrs. Tillotson were literally
devouring the devotional face, with the heavy
golden hair, set in a tiny bonnet, that was
looking from the window. "Ada Millwood!"
she repeated, as her breath came and went very
fast.

"Yes," said Mr. Tilney; "this way. Of course
she will like to know you, Mrs. Tillotson—a
sort of curiosity, you know."

Mr. Tillotson knew not what to do. Those
restless little eyes were wandering from his face
to Ada's, and he became a little confused. A
sudden light came into Mrs. Tillotson's eyes,
and she read off the solution to what had been
puzzling her for so long.

It was his first meeting with Ada since that
night, and no man had ever more firmly and
loyally carried out what he had proposed to
himself. With this confidence in his heart, he went
up straight to the cab where the Angelico face
was, as it were, unworthily framed. That Angelico