"Sulphur! What in the name of--sulphur! Why, now that you mention it,
I _do_ notice something of a brimstone smell. Sulphur! Why, man,
you're as strong as a lighted match. What have you been doing with
yourself? Down inside, eh?"

Dacres made no answer for some time, but sat stroking his beard with
his left hand, while his right held a cigar which he had just taken
out of a box at his elbow. His eyes were fixed upon a point in the sky
exactly half-way between Capri and Baiæ, and about ten degrees above
the horizon.

"Hawbury," said he, solemnly, after about two minutes of portentous
silence.

"Well, old man?"

"I've had an adventure."

"An adventure! Well, don't be bashful. Breathe forth the tale in this
confiding ear."

"You see," said Dacres, "I started off this morning for a ride, and
had no more intention of going to Vesuvius than to Jericho."

"I should hope not. What business has a fellow like you with
Vesuvius--a fellow that has scaled Cotopaxi, and all that sort of
thing? Not you."

Dacres put the cigar thoughtfully in his mouth, struck a light, and
tried to light it, but couldn't. Then he bit the end off, which he had