all men are rich,
whilst it lasts! and Tom Sampson is as wealthy with his bottle as your
honour with all the acres of your principality!"

"Let us have another bottle of riches," says Harry, with a laugh.
"Encore du cachet jaune, mon bon Monsieur Barbeau!" and exit Monsieur
Barbeau to the caves below.

"Another bottle of riches! Capital, capital! How beautifully you speak
French, Mr. Harry!"

"I do speak it well," says Harry. "At least, when I speak, Monsieur
Barbeau understands me well enough."

"You do everything well, I think. You succeed in whatever you try. That
is why they have fancied here you have won the hearts of so many women,
sir."

"There you go again about the women! I tell you I don't like these
stories about women. Confound me, Sampson, why is a gentleman's
character to be blackened so?"

"Well, at any rate, there is one, unless my eyes deceive me very much
indeed, sir!" cries the chaplain.

"Whom do you mean?" asked Harry, flushing very red.

"Nay, I name no names. It isn't for a poor chaplain to meddle with his
betters' doings, or to know their thoughts," says Mr. Sampson.

"Thoughts! what thoughts, Sampson?"

"I fancied I saw, on the part of a certain lovely and respected lady at
Castlewood, a preference exhibited. I fancied, on the side of a certain
distinguished young gentleman, a strong liking manifested itself: but I
may have been wrong, and ask pardon."

"Oh, Sampson, Sampson!" broke out the young man. "I tell you I am
miserable. I tell you I have been longing for some one to confide in,
or ask advice of. You do know, then, that there has been something
going on--something between me and--help Mr. Sampson, Monsieur
Barbeau--and--and some one else?"

"I have watched it this month past," says the chaplain.

"Confound me, sir, do you mean you have been a spy on me?" says the
other hotly.

"A spy! You made little disguise of the matter, Mr. Warrington, and
her ladyship wasn't a much better hand at deceiving. You were always
together. In the shrubberies, in the walks, in the village, in the
galleries of the house,--you always found a pretext for being together,
and plenty of eyes besides mine watched you."

"Gracious powers! What did you see, Sampson?" cries the lad.

"Nay, sir, 'tis forbidden to kiss and tell. I say so again," says the
chaplain.

The young man turned very red. "Oh, Sampson!" he cried, "can I--can I
confide in you?"

"Dearest sir--dear generous youth--you know