"No, she is of gentle blood,--a soldier's daughter; the daughter of that
Captain Digby on whose behalf I was a petitioner to your patronage. He
is dead, and in dying, my name was on his lips. He meant me, doubtless,
to be the guardian to his orphan. I shall be so. I have at last an
object in life."

"But can you seriously mean to take this child with you abroad?"

"Seriously, I do."

"And lodge her in your own house?"

"For a year or so, while she is yet a child. Then, as she approaches
youth, I shall place her elsewhere."

"You may grow to love her. Is it clear that she will love you,--not
mistake gratitude for love? It is a very hazardous experiment."

"So was William the Norman's,--still he was William the Conqueror. Thou
biddest me move on from the Past, and be consoled, yet thou wouldst make
me as inapt to progress as the mule in Slawkenbergius's tale, with thy
cursed interlocutions, 'Stumbling, by Saint Nicholas, every step. Why,
at this rate, we shall be all night in getting into'--HAPPINESS!
Listen," continued Harley, setting off, full pelt, into one of his wild
whimsical humours. "One of the sons of the prophets in Israel felling
wood near the river Jordan, his hatchet forsook the helve, and fell to
the bottom of the river; so he prayed to have it again (it was but a
small request, mark you); and having a strong faith, he did not throw the
hatchet after the helve, but the helve after the hatchet. Presently two
great miracles were seen. Up springs the hatchet from the bottom of the