tears. (This sentence I know is not
grammatical; who cares?) Welter, when he saw that his wife was not
killed, was furious. His large red brutal face turned to purple; he
smote his prize-fighting chest with his huge fists, he lowered his
eyebrows until he resembled an infuriated hog, and then he retired to
his house and drank a small box of claret--pints--twenty-four to the
dozen!

Adelaide, too, was furious, but she sent privately to London for Surgeon
Forsups--he came; then in the night season, unbeknown to Welter, an
operation was performed, and behold! in the morning light lay Adelaide,
tall, straight, commanding, proud--well as ever! in fact, straight as a
shingle. Do you think she wanted to choke Welter? I do.

CHAPTER III.

Nature was in one of her gloomiest moods, the clouds were the color of
burnt treacle, the sombre rain pelted the dismal streets; mud was
everywhere, desolation, misery, wet boots, and ruined hats. In the midst
of such a scene, Welter, Lord Ascot, died of apoplexy in the throat,
caused by a rope. Who did the deed? Owls on the battlements answer me.
Did he do it himself or was it done for him? Shrieking elements respond.
Echo answers: Justice!

CHAPTER IV.

Ravenshoe bay again. Sunlight on the waters; clear blue sky; all nature
smiling serenely; Charles Ravenshoe--I adore the man when I think of
him--landing a forty-four-pound salmon; ruddy with health, joyous in
countenance; two curly-headed boys screaming for joy; his wife, 'she
that was' (Americanism picked up among Yorkshiremen in Australia) Mary
Corby, laughing heartily at the _tout ensemble_. William Ravenshoe
affectionately helping Charles with a landing-net to secure the salmon,
thus speaks to him:

'Charles, this idea of yours of dividing the 'state evenly between us is
noble, but I shall not accept it. I would like a small piece of the tail
of this salmon for dinner, though, if it will not rob you.'

'William, halves in every thing between us is my motto; so say no more
about it. The delightful news that Father Macksham has at last fallen a
victim to his love of gain, while trying to run a cargo of cannons,
powder, and Enfield rifles to the confederate States, IN DIRECT
OPPOSITION TO HER BLESSED MAJESTY'S COMMANDS, rejoices my heart to that
extent that I exclaim, perish all Jesuits! Now that you have turned
Protestant, and are thoroughly out of the woods of medieval romance, I
may say,

'The owl, for all his feathers,