her cheek, "go along! I suppose you think I
am not young enough. 'Gad, Tom's not a bit
too old to travel—not a bit! I'll be very glad
to brush up my parley-voo. Well, now, it's a
long time ago now. No, I'll just get out my
little valise, put up the rayshurs" (so our dear
captain always called those weapons), "and
the curlin'-irons, and be ready tomorrow. And,
egad! we'll enjoy ourselves, my dear, and not
spare the rhino! Many's the little dinner we'll
have at the Caffys, at the Mil Colun, and
the Roshay Congcale. Though God knows if
they're going on! And we'll stroll in the
Pally Roile, too, and Tom makes it a point that
he's not to be interfered with in any way. I
like to spend my money and travel like a
gentleman. I wish I was a little younger, though,
and the hip not so stiff. But we'll get along the
Boolvars fast enough. And surely, my dear,
there are the Cabs! I wish to God it was a
fine handsome young fellow like Tillotson was
going with you, and not an old Bolshero like
myself!" (The captain used many of these odd
but expressive words.)

More days went by. Up at the office, strange
rumours had come in, some to the effect that
all had been sealed and signed between the two
offices.

The secretary came in with a gloomy air.
Mr. Bowater was disturbed. "You meant it
well, Tillotson, and it was a bold game, but it
won't do in money matters; people take you at
your word. It does very well for the foreign
courts and the Frenchmen, and that line. And
do me the justice to say I warned you."

Mr. Tillotson grew excited. "I don't
believe it," he said—"not one word of it. Why
will you not have some trust in me? I pledge
myself to success—that is, unless I am
hopelessly astray. I implore of you, as you have
gone so far, leave it to me still!"

The secretary shrugged his shoulders. "The
mischief is done now, I fear, so it doesn't so
much matter.

"Oh, certainly—certainly," said Mr. Bowater,
with a resigned air.

It was a serious responsibility, and Mr.
Tillotson went home more troubled still. But the
result he came to was to "hold off," and play
the indifferent game a little bit longer. After
all, it was only human nature that this serious
anxiety should dwarf domestic trouble. In the
midst of a letter, with the office-boy waiting in
the hall, the captain would come in to him. His
alacrity for foreign travel would be all gone. "I
don't know what to say, Tillotson," he said, "but,
somehow, it doesn't seem to me all right. And
why a little girl should not go for her health
to a warm place, I don't see—indeed I don't—
and, God knows, I'm ready at any moment."

"I am as much puzzled as you are," said Mr.
Tillotson, with a weary sigh, "and I would wish
her to stay—indeed I would."

"To be sure. I know it," said the captain,
suddenly taking the couleur de rose view. "And
why shouldn't she like a little change? A
girl's a girl, you know, and they like fun, and I
shouldn't be at all surprised but that this was one
of their nice little innocent tricks. God help
them, the creatures! with which they show their
liking. You must come out soon, you know;
she'll be dying and pining for you the first week.
I know the girls well, in my little way."

"Do you think so?" said Mr. Tillotson,
absently, and a little relieved. "Well, perhaps
so. And I am sure it will all come right ."

Two more days went by, and the preparations
for the journey went on. In the bank affair the
state of suspense continued. There was trouble
and pressure both outside and inside the house.
Everything was undecided.

It came round at last to the morning of the
departure. The little lady had been going
through her preparations with a coldness and
impassiveness that amounted almost to sternness.
She was determined, he saw, to carry
through what she had intended. Several times
he had begun: "Once more I ask you, what does
this mean? Any explanation—any grievance—
what is your wish? Be candid; speak openly."

The answer was to this tone: "Do I
complain? Do I say I have a grievance? Surely
you do not object to my going away for my
health? If so, of course I can show myself
obedient."

But, almost as she spoke, came the winged
Mercury from the office with a sort of telegram
—it was written so hastily—from the secretary:

"Dear Sir. You beat us all in foresight. I
have just heard, from a secret source, they are
going to offer us terms this evening."

Something like a smile of triumph came into
his face. She saw it, and with a bitter impatience
hurried to her room. "He does not care
if I were dead and buried this moment—as I
soon shall be, I hope!"

Now, it came to pass in these days that the
captain, busy with his preparations, enjoying
himself immensely at home of the nights, with his
tools out before him and spectacles on, doing all
manner of ingenious repairs to his travelling-
traps—a pastime in which he delighted—had
gone out to buy himself a good warm sort of
horseman's cloak to keep out the night air; for
he recollected that bitter cold journey up to
Paris in the diligence, when ice and snow were
on the ground. As he was in the shop, choosing
the article in a friendly manner, and apologising
to the shopman, who was, indeed, delighted to
serve him ("as gentlemanly a young fellow, my
dear," the captain described him, "as you'd ask
to see in a ball-room"), when he heard a voice
behind him. It was Mr. Tilney, who had met
him before at Mr. Tillotson's.

Mr. Tilney wondered at the large cloak, said
it reminded him of "Brummel" Richards, who
always drove his own mail-coach in like attire—
"he died miserably in the Fleet, poor devil"—
and the captain explained the cloak was for a
journey. Mr. Tilney was astounded when he
heard who was to be the captain's companion.
"God bless me!" he said, many times, "what
odd things turn up! Man never knows, but
always is to be, what d'ye call it—you remember