"Blighted affections, then," sighed Bellew, settling himself more
comfortably in the hay.

"You aren't 'inting at--love, are ye?" enquired the Waggoner cocking a
somewhat sheepish eye at him.

"I was, but, just at present," and here Bellew lowered his voice, "it is
a--er--rather painful subject with me,--let us, therefore, talk of
something else."

"You don't mean to say as your 'eart's broke, do ye?" enquired the
Waggoner in a tone of such vast surprise and disbelief, that Bellew
turned, and propped himself on an indignant elbow.

"And why the deuce not?" he retorted, "my heart is no more impervious
than anyone else's,--confound it!"

"But," said the Waggoner, "you ain't got the look of a 'eart-broke cove,
no more than Squire Cassilis,--which the same I heard telling Miss
Anthea as 'is 'eart were broke, no later than yesterday, at two o'clock
in the arternoon, as ever was."

"Anthea!" repeated Bellew, blinking drowsily up at the sky again, "that
is a very quaint name, and very pretty."

"Pretty,--ah,--an' so's Miss Anthea!--as a pict'er."

"Oh, really?" yawned Bellew.

"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner, "there ain't a man, in or out o' the parish,