sermon I preached you an hour ago. Come, look at this,"--thrusting a
programme into his face,--"and stop staring. Why, boy, she has
bewitched you,--or inspired you,"--surveying him sharply.

And indeed it would seem so. Eyes, mouth, face, instinct with some
subtle and thrilling emotion. As gay Tom Russell looked, he
involuntarily stretched out his hand, as one would put it between
another and some danger of which that other is unaware, and remembered
what he had once said in talking of him,--"If Will Surrey's time does
come, I hope the girl will be all right in every way, for he'll plunge
headlong, and love like distraction itself,--no half-way; it will be a
life-and-death affair for him." "Come, I must break in on this."

"Surrey!"

"Yes."

"There's a pretty girl."

No answer.

"There! over yonder. Third seat, second row. See her? Pretty?"

"Very pretty."

"Miss--Miss--what's her name? O, Miss Perry played that last thing very
well for a school-girl, eh?"

"Very well."