his Port at the hotel, and rushed down to Dipwell,
shot a pebble at Mabel's window by morning twilight, and soon had her
face at the casement. But it was a cloudy and rainbeaten face. She
pointed toward the farm, saying that my father was there.

'Has he grieved you, Mabel?' I asked softly.

'Oh, no, not he! he wouldn't, he couldn't; he talked right. Oh, go, go:
for I haven't a foot to move. And don't speak so soft; I can't bear
kindness.'

My father in admonishing her had done it tenderly, I was sure. Tenderness
was the weapon which had wounded her, and so she shrank from it; and if I
had reproached and abused her she might, perhaps, have obeyed me by
coming out, not to return. She was deaf. I kissed my hand to her
regretfully; a condition of spirit gradually dissolved by the haunting
phantom of her forehead and mouth crumpling up for fresh floods of tears.
Had she concealed that vision with her handkerchief, I might have waited
to see her before I saw my father. He soon changed the set of the
current.

'Our little Mabel here,' he said, 'is an inflammable puss, I fear. By the
way, talking of girls, I have a surprise for you. Remind me of it when we
touch Ostend. We may want a yacht there to entertain high company. I have
set inquiries afloat for the hire of a schooner. This child Mabel can
read and write, I suppose? Best write no letters, boy. Do not make old
Dipwell a thorny bed. I have a portrait to show you, Richie. A portrait!
I think you will say the original was worthy of more than to be taken up
and thrown away like a weed. You see, Richie, girls have only one chance
in the world, and good God! to ruin that--no, no. You shall see this
portrait. A pretty little cow-like Mabel, I grant you. But to have her on
the conscience! What a coronet to wear! My young Lord Destrier--you will
remember him as one of our guests here; I brought him to make your
acquaintance; well, he would not be scrupulous, it is possible. Ay, but
compare yourself with him, Richie! and you and I, let us love one another
and have no nettles.'

He flourished me away to London, into new spheres of fancy. He was
irresistible.

In a London Club I was led up to the miniature of a youthful woman,
singular for her endearing beauty Her cheeks were merry red, her lips
lively with the spark of laughter, her eyes in good union with them,
showing you the laughter was gentle; eyes of overflowing blue light.

'Who is she?' I asked.

The old-fashione