the windows of the villa the lights gleamed steadily; over the banks,
dipping into the water, hung large willows breathlessly; the boat gently
brushed aside their pendent boughs, and Vance rested in a grassy cove.

"And faith," said the Artist, gayly,--"faith," said he, lighting his
third cigar, "it is time we should bestow a few words more on the
Remorseless Baron and the Bandit's Child! What a cock-and-a-bull story
the Cobbler told us! He must have thought us precious green."

LIONEL (roused).--"Nay, I see nothing so wonderful in the story, though
much that is sad. You must allow that Waife may have been a good actor:
you became quite excited merely at his attitude and bow. Natural,
therefore, that he should have been invited to try his chance on the
London stage; not improbable that he may have met with an accident by the
train, and so lost his chance forever; natural, then, that he should
press into service his poor little grandchild, natural, also, that,
hardly treated and his pride hurt, he should wish to escape."

VANCE.--"And more natural than all that he should want to extract from
our pockets three pounds, the Bandit! No, Lionel, I tell you what is not
probable, that he should have disposed of that clever child to a vagabond
like Rugge: she plays admirably. The manager who was to have engaged him
would have engaged her if he had seen her. I am puzzled."

LIONEL.--"True, she is an extraordinary child. I cannot say how she has
interested me." He took out his purse, and began counting its contents.
"I have nearly three pounds left," he cried joyously. "L2. 18s. if I
give up the thought of a longer excursion with you, and go quietly
home--"