I've letters that I'll show him, and show you,
too, if you like. Why, she worships my little
finger more than him or his bank put together.
Those Tilneys force her into it. I see my way,
I can tell you. We have a little breathing-
time now. I'll settle him, though, at once.
Then I'll settle my own affairs. The governor
out there will stand by me. I have more interest
than you or he thinks. Why, they daren't
break me, as you call it. I defy 'em. And I'll
win my suit, too. Then I shall have money. Not
to be married for a month. I wonder the
bridegroom could wait an hour. Ha! ha!"

It was one o'clock nearly before he went
away, to the captain's infinite relief, who,
however, congratulated himself on what he called
a good night's work. The captain thought over
the situation very earnestly before he went to bed.

    CHAPTER VI. THE WEDDING-DAY.

We should have seen the captain on the next
morning, in all the glory of his new "shoeper-
fine double-milled frock." It was as glossy as the
skin of a snake. He had a flower in his buttonhole,
and the "rayshurs," which the captain
always prided himself on having in the finest
possible order, had done their work with
surprising smoothness. His wig was glossy, and
his whiskers, curled into barrels by "the French
iron," almost reflected surrounding objects. He
was bright and brilliant, as indeed befitted the
occasion of a wedding. The job carriage,
which he had secured in homage to the festival,
was waiting, and the landlady and the landlady's
children were on the stairs and in the
windows to see the captain come down and go off
in state. The captain was almost ashamed;
for he had, besides, a man-servant, with
white gloves, whom an old friend had
insisted on sending, and who held the door open,
and touched his hat very often, and who, we
need hardly say, was munificently and beyond
his merits and expectations rewarded at the
close of the day.

On his road down to Hampton, the captain
more than once felicitated himself on his diplomacy
of last night. "It was uncommon lucky,"
he thought, "that he paid me that visit, or more
uncommon lucky that it came into my old head
to just put him off with that story. God forgive
me! They'll get on their travels comfortably,
and my poor fellow will feel it for a week or so,
and then make the best of it. I am afraid, bad
is the best, any way. They'll break him, as
sure as my name's Tom. Indeed, they couldn't
help it—a fellow taking French leave of the
ranks in that way!"

It was a lovely day, with sun out and no
wind; indeed, as lovely "as if it had been
bespoke," to use the captain's expression. Very
soft and charming looked the little townlets
through which they drove smartly—the Kews
and Putneys and Sheens, with the common, and
inns with the green, and the signboard hung from
the tree in front. Then they came to Richmond,
which set the captain a-musing, for some misty
days began to rise before him of a dinner there
with General—then Captain—Cameron, when the
captain "got into a row with a civilian fellow of
the place," and broke one of the policemen's
hats; and "egad!" said the captain, telling the
little history, "we had to give the poor fellow a
plaister for his old hat—two guineas, no less—
or we'd have to spend the night in the black
hole." That is to say, our captain had to give
that sum, for his friend was unconscious of what
was going on, and the captain would have died
before "bringing up" such a trifle as that.
Then came the Thames and Twickenham, and
its pretty meads, and finally Hampton itself,
where the wedding was to be.

At Mr. Tilney's house was great excitement.
For once the family had thrown themselves
unselfishly into the business, and co-operated with
a surprising ardour. There was to be a little
déjeûner, "strictly private," said Mr. Tilney,
"not a soul. Wouldn't do, you know. Just
to invoke God's blessing on 'em before they
start, and speed 'em on their parting way."

This last view was reasonable. But how the
blessing was to descend did not appear so readily.
Many times, too, he had himself officially invoked
such blessings with great fervour. But what took
up all his thoughts was what he would call the
déjeûner, and just, as on another night, which
he had sad cause to remember, so now he was
busy, with his coat off, giving finishing touches
to the table, backing, taking sidelong glances
to get better views. In this department, it must
be said, he excelled, and the table certainly
presented a very artistic appearance. But though,
it was to be thus strictly private, he had just
stipulated for "old Crozier," as well-bred a
man as you'd ask to see, and who, in right of
his sister, Miss Janet Crozier, enjoyed a
mouldy suite of apartments at the palace—a
suite of cells they might indeed have been called
—old Crozier's title to these privileges coming
through the Honourable Mrs. Crozier, who,
years before she had married the Honourable
Crozier, had been indistinctly "something about
the palace." With this pair, a little mouldy in
their habits and memories, Mr. Tilney had made
an acquaintance in his walks in the Hampton
green lanes and Palace Gardens. With this
pair he had enjoyed mouldy "teas" in the little
cupboards of rooms which the royal favour had
allotted to them.

Never had Ada Millwood looked so charming,
or so graceful, or so Grecian, as on this morning.
She was grave, though not sad, and in the light
of the sun her wonderful hair played and
glittered; and indeed, by a sort of arbitrary association,
brought back to Mr. Tillotson a Sunday
morning long ago past by, when she was
sitting in the old cathedral, the music from
Dr. Bliss's organ rolling up and down the
choirs, and the tone of the day seemed as if it
were a Christinas morning or an Easter. This
thought came into the mind of the new Mr.
Tillotson, looking at least five years younger
than he had done a month before, and full of a
bounding happiness. "It seems to me," he
said to Mr. Tilney, "that everything ends