e was a noise of horses' feet just beyond the fence, and a voice
calling to her to come. It was Jim, and, drying her eyes, she went out,
and he, dismounting, put his arm round her waist and kissed her.

"Why, my beauty," he said, "who has been making you cry?"

She put her head on his shoulder and began sobbing louder than ever.
"Cecil Mayford," she said in a whisper.

"Well, and what the d----l has he been at?" said Jim, in a rather
startling tone.

"Wants to marry me," she answered, in a whisper, and hid her face in
his coat.

"The deuce doubt he does," said Jim; "who does not? What did you tell
him?"

"I told him that I wondered at his audacity."

"Sent him off with a flea in his ear, in fact," said Jim. "Well, quite
right. I suppose you would do the same for any man?"

"Certainly I should," she said, looking up.

"If Doctor Mulhaus, now,--eh?"

"I'd box his ears, Jim," she said, laughing; "I would, indeed."

"Or Sam Buckley; would you box his ears, if he were to--you know?"

"Yes," she said. But there spread over her face a sudden crimson blush,
like the rosy arch which heralds the tropical sun, which made Jim laugh
aloud.

"If you dared to say a word, Jim," she said, "I would never, never--"

Poor Cecil had taken his horse and had meant to ride home, but came
back again at night, "just," he thought, "to have one more look at her
before he entered on some line of life which would take him far away
from Garoopna and its temptations."

The Doctor (who has been rather thrust aside lately in the midst of all
this love-making and so on) saw that something had gone very wrong with
Cecil, who was a great friend of his, and, as he could never bear to
see a man in distress without helping him, he encouraged Cecil to
stroll down the garden with him, and then kindly and gently asked him
what was wrong.

Cecil told him all, from beginning to end, and added that life was over
for him, as far as all pleasure and excitement went; and, in short,
said what we have all said, and had said to us in our time, after a
great disappointment in love; which the Doctor took for exactly what it
was worth, although poor little Cecil's distress was very keen; and,
remembering some old bygone day when he had suffered so himself, he
cast about to find some comfort for him.

"You will get over this, my boy," said he, "if you would only believe
it."

"Never, never!" said Cecil.

"Let me tell you a story, as we walk up and do