sir? But where's breakfast?'

'Breakfast, Miss Hazel,' said her guardian solemnly, 'is
never, so far as I can learn, taken by people setting out to
seek their fortune. It is generally supposed that such people
rarely have breakfast at all.'

'Very well, sir,--I am ready,'--and in another minute they were
on their way, passing through the street of the little
village, and then out on the open road, until after a half-
hour's drive they entered another small settlement and drew up
before its chief inn. Bustle enough here,--lamps in the hall
and on the steps; lamps in the parlours; lamps running up and
down the yards and road and dimly disclosing the outlines of a
thorough bred stage coach and four horses, with the various
figures pertaining thereto. Steadily the dawn came creeping
up; the morning air--raw and damp--floated off the horses'
tails, and flickered the lights, and even handled Wych Hazel's
new veil. I think nothing but the new travelling dress kept
her from shivering, as they went up the inn steps. People
seeking their fortunes may at least _want_ their breakfast.

But Mr. Falkirk was perverse. As they entered the hall, a
waiter threw open the door into the long breakfast room--
delicious with its fire and lights and coffee--(neither did the
voices sound ill), but Mr. Falkirk stopped short.

'Is that the only fire you've got? I want breakfast in a
private room.'

Now Mr. Falkirk's tone was sometimes one that nobody would
think of answering in words,--of course, the waiter could do
nothing but wheel about and open another door next to the
first.

'Ah!' Mr. Falkirk said with immense satisfaction, as they
stepped in.

'Ah!'--repeated his ward rather mockingly. 'Mr. Falkirk, this
room is cold.'

Mr. Falkirk took the poker and gave the fire such a punch that
it must have blazed uninterruptedly for half a day after.

'Cold, my dear?' he said beamingly--'no one can be cold long
before such a fire as that. And breakfast will be here in a
moment. If it comes before I get back, don't wait for me. How
well your dress looks!'

'And I?--Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel.

'Why that's a matter of taste, my dear, of course. Some people
you know are partial to black eyes--which yours are not. Others
again--Ah, here is breakfast,--Now my dear, eat as much as you
can,--you know we may not have any breakfast to-morrow. On a
search after fortune, you never can tell.'

And helping her to an extraordinary quantity o