"A man can't say more than that," said the
captain. "And spoken in a manly way, too!
There, I knew it would all come straight! Let
me tell him now about the Paris pleasure-trip."

"I understand it all—perfectly—too 'well,'"
said young Mrs.Tillotson, with infinite bitterness.
"No matter now. As far as I am
concerned, I wish to go, for my health. Is that so
great a crime? Ask your doctor what he thinks.
Perhaps it may be desirable, for certain reasons,
to keep me here during this coming bitter winter,
and if so, of course I must submit. But I wish
to go, and, if I am not prevented, shall go
tonight."

A deep gloom spread gradually over the
captain's face as this speech was made. Mr.
Tillotson looked at her a moment with sorrow;
then, with a deep sigh, quitted the room without
saying a word.

That night, as they were lighting the lamps
in the street, the captain drove up in a cab,
with the "little valise" on the box. He came
in, with the new horseman's cloak about him—
the collars of which stood up stiffly about his
face like a garden wall—from a gate, as it were,
in front of which the captain's fine Roman nose
peered out. He was ready for any journey, and
at almost any notice; for though he had not
found the opportunities, like other men, he had
the soul of a true campaigner.

Inside was an agitation and flurry, now that
it had come to the point. But young Mrs.
Tillotson, with compressed lips, gave no sign, but
went through all her last duties of preparation
with a Spartan firmness. Mr. Tillotson, nervous
and agitated, would have spoken, and made one
last appeal; but he knew that it was profitless.
Miss Diamond alone, as she met him in the lobby,
said sorrowfully, "O! it should not have come
to this!"

The captain alone forced an affected jollity,
as if a season of extraordinary gala was coming
on. "The idea of Tom's going out on his travels
again! Egad! I might meet some of the old
set in Paris, walking along the Boolvars!
Who knows? And I can tell you, my dear, as
I lay in my bed last night, I was furbishing up
some of my old French, and I assure you I
found it coming back to me all of a heap, as I
may say. Though, between you and me and the
post, I never was very strong in that line.
Egad! we're like boys going off for the holidays.
Just, I may say, a week's holidays; and then
we'll come back quite strong and fresh, and our
little chest made light and right by the parleyvoo
doctor. And egad, I don't know but I
may put my own old Bolshero figure under
their hands."

Thus he rattled on without ceasing; and,
indeed, he did good service to that constrained
party. Finally, the moment came, the cab was
announced to be ready, and the trunks on. Then
there was a constrained farewell between the
husband and wife, the grim Martha looking on in the
hall. The captain wrung his hand warmly. "I'll
take care of her, my dear boy," he said, "and
write to you." And he whispered, "She'll be
writin' to you to come out before a week's out,
and mind you do come, and we'll order such
little dinners at the old Roshay. Good-bye!
Good-bye!"

As they drove away into the darkness, the
grim woman left behind, and standing in the
hall, said solemnly:

"And so you have let her go! You shouldn't
have done it. No, no, sir!"

He answered her gently. "She would go
herself. God knows I did not wish it."

"Yes, He knows," said she, in the same
tone. "There's some man waiting to see you."

It was some one from the office. The business
had taken another turn. Everything was "up"
now. It was drawing on to a crisis. A letter
and an express from the secretary, written in a
sort of rapturous hurry. "My dear sir," &c..
This was to be answered with all speed, and
there was an answer to Mr. Tillotson within an
hour, and he had to give his mind to it; and if
he had had friends in the house, they would
have said that it was a very fortunate distraction,
for he was now alone and deserted in his house,
just as he had been before.

CHAPTER X. THE CAPTAIN ON HIS TRAVELS.

This bank negotiation was one of the most
fitful, harassing things that could be conceived.
It began to advance—to go back fitfully; one
day being on the verge of conclusion, and on
the morrow as far off as ever. This excitement
kept Mr. Tillotson very busy in mind and body;
and it was after a weary day, as he sat in his
room wishing that he had never embarked in
the business, that a limp and long envelope was
brought in, that had just arrived by the post.
It was the communication from the travellers.
He opened it a little eagerly, for he had often
thought of the little lady's worn and wistful
face with bitter self-reproach. He knew her
writing, and there was a tiny little note from
her, cold and brief, in which she said that "they
had arrived quite safe, and that she already felt
better, and that they were to enjoy themselves
very much," with more formality of that sort.
But with it came also a long, closely-written
despatch, in the rather cramped but legible
hand of the captain, which must have cost him
infinite pains and time. It was dated from
"Meurice's," where the captain had put up on
his last visit, when he had repaired to the
capital after the Peace, and was written in
extraordinary spirits. Mr. Tillotson seemed to
hear him talking, as he read:

"Meurice's, Vaughandredi.

"My dear Tillotson. Here we are in this gay
old city, arrived quite right and safe, and the
fellow-traveller bearing the journey wonderfully.
But, my God! what a place it has become! I
should no more know it than the post, and I
declare I hardly think they have improved. But
what a grand place for the sights! And I can
tell you we shan't miss one of them, so long as
there is a shot in the locker and Tom to the fore.
We here have what they call a fiackker by the
day, and we drive to everything, for I don't want
to be hard on the Leg, and I don't want our
little fellow-traveller to be droning after an old