necessary) for having returned them, in ignorance of the existence of a
more worthy admirer in himself. There are many more varieties of Love
than even the poets have classified; and perhaps it is in despair of
dealing with this Proteus that we elders so often ignore him in our
calculations.

The day was darkening by the time Richard reached the village. Around
the inn door were a group of miners, who stared at his bare head hard
enough, but gave way to him civilly. They were talking and laughing
loudly, and wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. It was
evident that somebody had been "standing treat" in the narrow passage;
and leaning their elbows on the sill of the little bar window were more
miners, each with his pint pot of ale.

"Here's luck to Trevethick and Coe," said one, "for a parting toast."

"Ha, ha, that's good!" cried another, in appreciation of this commercial
epigram; "Trevethick and Coe; to be sure."

"Trevethick and Coe, and may the copper last!"

But one, emboldened by the liquor, or naturally more audacious than the
rest, put his head and shoulders through the open window, and, making a
trumpet of his two hands, whispered in a hoarse voice, audible to every
one: "And is it to be Coe and Trevethick also, Miss Harry--eh?"

Then the window was slammed down with no gentle hand, and the men went
out laughing heartily, and for the first time leaving room for Richard
to pass in. He did not look toward the bar window, but, as though he had
heard nothing, walked quickly past it into the sitting-room, which had