foresight! But where was the fee Tarapatapoum? Never there during this
year of unutterable longing; she had said it; never, never again should
I be in her dream, or she in mine, however constantly we might dwell in
each other's thoughts.

So sped a twelvemonth after that last meeting in the flesh at Gray.

* * * * *

And now with an unwilling heart and most reluctant pen, I must come to
the great calamity of my life which I will endeavor to tell in as few
words as possible.

The reader, if he has been good enough to read without skipping, will
remember the handsome Mrs. Deane, to whom I fancied I lost my heart, in
Hopshire, a few years back.

I had not seen her since--had, indeed, almost forgotten her--but had
heard vaguely that she had left Hopshire, and come to London, and
married a wealthy man much older than herself.

Well, one day I was in Hyde Park, gazing at the people in the drive,
when a spick-and-span and very brand-new open carriage went by, and in
it sad Mrs. Deane (that was), all alone in her glory, and looking very
sulky indeed. She recognized me and bowed, and I bowed back again, with
just a moment's little flutter of the heart--an involuntary tribute to
auld lang syne--and went on my way, wondering that I could ever had
admired her so.

Presently, to my surprise, I was touched on the elbow. It was Mrs. Deane