dim vision of a big head, whose stiff, high, curling, crisp hair, and
massive brow, and dense beard, seemed like some living manifestation
of cloud-compelling Jove.

For some time there was silence, and Hawbury said nothing, but waited
for his friend to speak.

At last a voice was heard--deep, solemn, awful, portentous, ominous,
sorrow-laden, weird, mysterious, prophetic, obscure, gloomy, doleful,
dismal, and apocalyptic.

"_Hawbury!_

"Well, old man?"

"HAWBURY!"

"All right."

"Are you listening?"

"Certainly."

"_Well--I'm--married!_"

Hawbury sprang to his feet as though he had been shot.

"What!" he cried.

"_I'm married!_"