content and gentle gratitude and hope. Her
"sisters" had always said that they envied
Ada's wonderful impassiveness; and one often
said, if the sky rained diamond bracelets, she
would not stoop to pick them up.

Sumptuous things, however, as costly arrived,
not indeed from the sky. The young ladies, too,
who at first seemed to be aggrieved by any
marriage taking place within a circuit of so
many miles about them, were conciliated by
presents almost as sumptuous. So was Mrs.
Tilney, who accepted her offering languidly.
Often the whole party came into town for an
opera, a dinner, or a play—a kind of little festival.
These things were all new to Mr. Tillotson,
and he listened first with curiosity, then
with wonder and interest. But a greater feast
to him was the pure face of Ada, as it rested on
her hand, turned towards the far-off stage, and
its faint outlines, with the old devout absorbed
expression, as the grand sounds and the swell
of orchestra and chorus mounted towards her.
No one like her appreciated that gorgeous
combination of voices, instruments, scenery, lights,
flowers, passion, tragedy, comedy, story, poetry,
beautiful women, fine men, grace and motion,
which make up the wonderful ensemble of THE
OPERA! Certainly the happiest days of his
life, even the dull routine of business, were gilded
over. It was even noticed that, from the new
cheerfulness always found there now, his face
had almost altered. There were jokes at the
office in explanation. "Don't you know he is
to be married? Fellows always look that way
before," &c.

And thus three weeks more passed away. A
day had been fixed, chiefly by Mr. Tilney's
agency, who seemed to think the whole burden
of the affair was on him, and to be carried
through by him. He would arrive very hot and
eager at the bank, at all hours, and ask for a
private interview with his friend. "We are
getting on," he would say, "fairly. I am
beginning to see my way, Tillotson—clearing the
ground by degrees. You must give us time,
you know; not push us on too fast." Though
what the ground was, and what was cleared
from it, it would be hard to say. But the
captain, with less officious zeal, was of infinitely
more profit. "Don't tire yourself," he would
say, "my dear boy. Leave it to old Tom. I like
pottering about in this way and doing little jobs.
It amuses me." And the captain, who had
singular arts for negotiation, and who, in fact,
by his sweetness of manner, had half his business
done before he opened it, limped from this
place to that, from this tradesman to that, sat
on a chair, and had long pleasant conversation
with "as nice and gentlemanly a fellow as
you would ask to see in your own drawing-
room." And in this way he saved his friend all
trouble.

Every day, too, as the interval shortened, the
change in Mr. Tillotson was more marked. He
seemed to grow brighter and happier every hour.
With the captain he often sat for hours of nights,
and to him he confided all his hopes and
speculations. It was now come to only two nights
before the marriage, and towards eleven o'clock
the captain was rising to go, and saying he must
"stump it" home, adding, as he put on his
large coat with the collars, that "good people
were getting scarcer every day." Though, "as
for that matter, Tom wouldn't be over-missed."

Mr. Tillotson laughed as he had begun to do
lately. "My dear captain," he said, "no one
would be so much missed. At this moment I
cannot say what a comfort your kind words and
assistance have brought me. I can't be grateful
enough. Miss you!"

"Nonsense!" said the captain. "I don't
believe you, sir. Get along. You, with a beautiful
young woman in your head, fresh, and fair,
and young, and talking of missing an old
shandradan like me. Well, I think we have nothing
more to do or think of. Everything's plain
sailing now, my dear boy. So don't trouble
your mind, and sleep sound. And if only Messrs.
Boswell and Hunt send me home my new and
true-blue, frock-coat, superfine double milled,
extra finished—those were the very terms—if
they only let me have it in time, as they promised,
I'll do. I was only measured this morning, and
it is hard on them, the creatures; but this old
head is beginning to forget. Egad! now I
remember, I saw your friend Tilney this morning.
I just got a mutton-chop for him, well done, and
he said he never tasted a better bit. So good
natured of him. (But I must say for Biddy she
can turn out a chop like no other woman.)
Well, he says they're all talking of young
Ross's good luck, and that it's a deuced good
thing for him. And he told me to tell you,"
added the captain, searching his memory
anxiously, so as to give the exact purport of his
message. "Yes, that there was a mail due
today or to-morrow, when he had a letter which he
would send you."

"I am so glad," said Mr. Tillotson, with deep
gratitude; "for, to tell you the truth, that
was the only misgiving I had. I thought
he had a sort of attachment for her all
through, which he would admit even to himself.
I took this idea into my head; I don't know
why. And, my dear captain, it troubled me for
a time; for, with all his faults, you know——"

"It's turned out now as snugly and comfortably
as if it was bespoke," said the captain,
with great enjoyment. "And do you know,
now that it's all past and gone, I had my own
misgivings. Those violent young fellows, you
know, full of blood——But, thank God, we
have 'got shut' of all that. Good night, God
bless you."

And away "stumped" the captain, full of
happiness, smiling to himself as he went along,
and now as pleased, he would have said, "as
if he had got a hundred-pound note into his
hand." He would have said that, naming such
a gift as a sort of standard, though such a present
would have given him very little pleasure,
unless to give it away.

And thus through the London streets, in a
pleasant complacency to all men of good will on