what the mischief's the matter? You look cut up. Your brow is sad;
your eyes beneath flash like a falchion from its sheath. What's
happened? You look half snubbed, and half desperate."

Dacres said not a word, but flung himself into a chair with a look
that suited Hawbury's description of him quite accurately. His brows
lowered into a heavy frown, his lips were compressed, and his breath
came quick and hard through his inflated nostrils. He sat thus for
some time without taking any notice whatever of his friend, and at
length lighted a cigar, which he smoked, as he often did when excited,
in great voluminous puffs. Hawbury said nothing, but after one or two
quick glances at his friend, rang a bell and ordered some "Bass."

"Here, old fellow," said he, drawing the attention of Dacres to the
refreshing draught. "Take some--'Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe,
and forget thy lost Lenore.'"

Dacres at this gave a heavy sigh that sounded like a groan, and
swallowed several tumblers in quick succession.

"Hawbury!" said he at length, in a half-stifled voice.

"Well, old man?"

"I've had a blow to-day full on the breast that fairly staggered me."

"By Jove!"

"Fact. I've just come from a mad ride along the shore. I've been mad,
I think, for two or three hours. Of all the monstrous, abominable,