it. Moreover,
though they fed him well enough, according to promise, the sulphur-water
acted on his stomach in a way that prevented any lasting satisfaction with
his vittles. In short, before the week was out he wanted to run away
home; and only one thing hindered him--that he'd fallen in love.

This was the way it happened. Dr. Clatworthy, having notions of his own
upon matrimony, and money to carry them out, had picked out a pretty child
and adopted her, and set her to school with a Miss St. Maur of Saltash, to
be trained up in his principles, till of an age to make him 'a perfect
helpmeet,' as he called it.

The poor child--she was called Jessica Venning to begin with, but the
doctor had rechristened her Sophia--was grown by this time into a young
lady of seventeen, pretty and graceful. She could play upon the harp and
paint in water-colours, and her needlework was a picture, but not half so
pretty a picture as her face. She came from Devonshire, from the edge of
the moors behind Newton Abbot, where the folks have complexions all
cream-and-roses. She'd a figure like a wand for grace, and an eye
half-melting, half-roguish. People might call Clatworthy a crank, or
whatever word answered to it in those days: but he had made no mistake in
choosing the material to make him a bride--or only this, that the poor
girl couldn't bear the look or the thought of him. Well, the time was
drawing on when Clatworthy, according to his plans, was to marry her, and
to prepare her for it he had taken to writing her a letter every day,
full of duty and mental improvement. Part of Nandy's business was to walk
over with these letters to Saltash. The doctor explained to him that it
would open the pores of his skin, and he must wait for an answer.
And so it came about that Nandy saw Miss Sophia, and fell over head and
ears in love with her.

But towards the end of the second week he felt that he could stand life at
Hi-jeen Villa no longer--no, not even for the sake of seeing Miss Sophia
daily.

"It's no use, miss," he told her very dolefully, as he delivered Friday's
letter; "I've a-got to run for it, and I'm going to run for it to-morrow."
He heaved a great sigh.

"But how foolish of you, Nandy!" said Miss Sophia, glancing up from the
letter. "When you know it's doing you so much good!"

"Good?" said Nandy, savage-like. "How would _you_ like it? There now--
I'm sorry, Miss Sophia. I forgot--and now I've made you cry!"