diocy. Such it was. Once acknowledged, it is not likely to recur. An
implacable reason sits in its place, with a keen blade for efforts to
carry the imposture further afield or make it agreeable. Yet, after
giving his word to Lord Levellier, he had prodded himself to think the
burden of this wild young woman might be absurdly tolerable and a laugh
at the world.

A solicitude for the animal was marked by his inquiry 'You are not
hungry yet?'

'Oh no, not yet,' said she, oddly enlivened.

They had a hamper and were independent of stoppages for provision, he
informed her. What more delightful? cried her look, seeing the first
mid-day's rest and meal with Chillon on the walk over the mountain from
their empty home.

She could get up enthusiasm for a stocked hamper! And when told of some
business that drew him to a meadow they were nearing, she said she would
be glad to help, if she could. 'I learn quickly, I know.'

His head acquiesced. The daughter of the Old Buccaneer might learn the
business quickly, perhaps; a singularly cutting smile was on his tight
lips, in memory of a desire he had as a boy to join hands with an
Amazonian damsel and be out over the world for adventures, comrade and
bride as one. Here the creature sat. Life is the burlesque of young
dreams; or they precipitate us on the roar and grin of a recognized
beast world.

The devil possessing him gnawed so furiously that a partial mitigation
of the pain was afforded by sight of waving hats on a hill-rise of the
road. He flourished his whip. The hats continued at wind-mill work.
It signified brisk news to him, and prospect of glee to propitiate any
number of devils.

'You will want a maid to attend on you,' he said.

She replied: 'I am not used to attendance on me. Henrietta's maid would
help. I did not want her. I had no maid at home. I can do for myself.
Father and mother liked me to be very independent.'

He supposed he would have to hear her spelling her words out next.

The hill-top was gained; twenty paces of pretty trotting brought up the
coach beside an inn porch, in the style of the finish dear to whips, and
even imperative upon them, if they love their art. Two gentlemen stood
in the road, and a young woman at the inn door; a dark-haired girl of an
anxious countenance. Her puckers vanished at some signal from inside the
coach.

'All right, Madge; nothing to fear,' Fleetwood called to her, and she
curtseyed.

He alighted, saying to her