with a certain kindness of manner that induced him to hope she was
not in earnest.

But the morning after they had anchored under the hills of the Dee-
-whether the lady had reflected more seriously than usual, or was
somewhat less in good humour than usual, or the Captain was more
pressing than usual--she said to him: "It must not be, Captain
Fitzchrome; 'the course of true love never did run smooth:' my
father must keep his borough, and I must have a town house and a
country house, and an opera box, and a carriage. It is not well
for either of us that we should flirt any longer: 'I must be cruel
only to be kind.' Be satisfied with the assurance that you alone,
of all men, have ever broken my rest. To be sure, it was only for
about three nights in all; but that is too much."

The Captain had le coeur navre. He took his portfolio under his
arm, made up the little valise of a pedestrian, and, without saying
a word to anyone, wandered off at random among the mountains.

After the lapse of a day or two, the Captain was missed, and
everyone marvelled what was become of him. Mr. Philpot thought he
must have been exploring a river, and fallen in and got drowned in
the process. Mr. Firedamp had no doubt he had been crossing a
mountain bog, and had been suddenly deprived of life by the
exhalations of marsh miasmata. Mr. Henbane deemed it probable that
he had been tempted in some wood by the large black brilliant
berries of the Atropa Belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade; and
lamented that he had not been by, to administer an infallible
antidote. Mr. Eavesdrop hoped the particulars of his fate would be
ascertained; and asked if anyone present could help him to any