was in his great-coat pocket: so with a most buoyant feeling of animal
delight, as well as of religious gratitude, he sped merrily once more
upon his secret expedition. Thank Heaven! Emmy could not know the peril
he had past: and wretched Julian would now have dreadful reason of his
own for this mysterious absence: and it was a pleasant thing to trudge
along so freely in the starlight, on the private embassy of love. Happy
Charles! I know not if ever more exhilarated feelings blessed the youth;
they made him trip along the silent road, in a gush of joyfulness, at
the rate of some six miles an hour; I know not if ever such delicious
thoughts of Emily's attachment, and those gorgeous mysteries in India,
of adventure, enterprise, escape, had heretofore caused his heart to
bound so lightsomely within him, like some elastic spring. I know not if
ever strong reliance upon Providential care, more earnest prayers,
praises, intercessions (for poor Julian, too,) were offered on the altar
of his soul. Happy Charles!

So he went on and on--long past Oxton, and Eyemouth, and Surbiton, and
over the ferry, and through the sleeping turnpikes, and past the bridge,
and along the broad high-road, until gray of morning's dawn revealed the
suburbs of Plymouth.

Of course he missed the mail by which he intended to have gone--for
Julian's dread act delayed him.

Long before his journey's end, his clothes were thoroughly dried, and
violent exercise had shaken off all possible rheumatic consequence of
that fearful plunge beneath the waters: five-and-twenty miles in four
hours and three-quarters, is a tolerable recipe for those who have
tumbled into rivers. We must recollect that he had gone as quick as he
could, for fear of being late, now the coach had passed. At a little