re years and
ten, it became but a vexation and a burden?

Getting no reply but Yes and No to his brief speeches, poor Harry sat a
while on a couch opposite his aunt, who shrugged her shoulders, had her
back to her nephew, and continued her game with the chaplain. Sampson
sat opposite Mr. Warrington, and could see that something disturbed him.
His face was very pale, and his countenance disturbed and full of gloom.
"Something has happened to him, ma'am," he whispered to the Baroness.

"Bah!" She shrugged her shoulders again, and continued to deal her
cards. "What is the matter with you, sir," she at last said, at a pause
in the game, "that you have such a dismal countenance? Chaplain, that
last game makes us even, I think!"

Harry got up from his place. "I am going on a journey: I am come to bid
you good-bye, aunt," he said, in a very tragical voice.

"On a journey! Are you going home to America? I mark the king, Chaplain,
and play him."

No, Harry said: he was not going to America yet going to the Isle of
Wight for the present.

"Indeed!--a lovely spot!" says the Baroness. "Bon jour, mon ami, et bon
voyage!" And she kissed a hand to her nephew.

"I mayn't come back for some time, aunt," he groaned out.

"Indeed! We shall be inconsolable without you! Unless you have a spade,
Mr. Sampson, the game is mine. Good-bye, my child! No more about your
journey at present: tell us about it when you come back!" And she gaily
bade him farewell. He looked for a moment piteously at her, and was
gone.

"Something grave has happened, madam," says the chaplain.

"Oh! The boy is always getting into scrapes! I suppose he has been
falling in love with one of those country girls--what are their names,
Lamberts?--with whom he is ever dawdling about. He has been doing no
good here for some time. I am disappointed in him, really quite grieved
about him--I will take two cards, if you please--again?--quite grieved.
What do you think they say of his cousin--the Miss Warrington who made
eyes at him when she thought he was a prize--they say the King has
remarked her, and the Yarmouth is creving with rage. He, be!--those
methodistical Warringtons! They are not a bit less worldly than
their neighbours; and, old as he is, if the Grand Seignior throws his
pocket-handkerchief, they will jump to catch it!"

"Ah, madam; how your ladyship knows the world!" sighs the chaplain. "I
propose, if you please!"

"I have lived long enough in it, Mr. S