rheumatism in my shoulder.

"And this," thought I, "was Glanville's residence for nearly a month! I
wonder he did not exhale into a vapour, or moisten into a green damp."

I went home by the churchyard. I paused on the spot where I had last
seen him. A small gravestone rose over the mound of earth on which he
had thrown himself; it was perfectly simple. The date of the year and
month (which showed that many weeks had not elapsed since the death of
the deceased) and the initials G. D. were all that was engraved upon the
stone. Beside this tomb was one of a more pompous description, to the
memory of a Mrs. Douglas, which had with the simple tumulus nothing in
common, unless the initial letter of the surname corresponding with
the latter initial on the neighbouring gravestone, might authorize
any connection between them, not supported by that similitude of style
usually found in the cenotaphs of the same family: the one, indeed,
might have covered the grave of a humble villager--the other, the
resting-place of the lady of the manor.

I found, therefore, no clue for the labyrinth of surmise: and I went
home, more vexed and disappointed with my day's expedition than I liked
to acknowledge to myself.

Lord Vincent met me in the hall. "Delighted to see you," said he, "I
have just been to--, (the nearest town) in order to discover what sort
of savages abide there. Great preparations for a ball--all the tallow
candles in the town are bespoken--and I heard a most uncivilized fiddle,

"'Twang short and sharp, like the shrill swallow's cry.'"

The one milliner's shop was full of fat squiresses, buying muslin
ammunition, to make the ball go off; and the attics, even at four
o'clock, were thronged with rubicund damsels, who were already, as
Shakspeare says of waves in a storm,

"'Curling their monstrous heads.'"

CHAPTER VIII.

Jusqu'au revoir le ciel vous tienne tous en joie.--Moliere.

I was now pretty well tried of Garrett Park. Lady Roseville was going
to H--t--d, where I also had an invitation. Lord Vincent meditated an
excursion to Paris. Mr. Davison had already departed. Miss Trafford had
been gone, God knows how long, and I was not at all disposed to be left,
like "the last rose of summer," in single blessedness at Garrett Park.
Vincent, Wormwood, and myself, all agreed to leave on the same day.

The morning of our departure arrived. We sat down to breakfast as usual.
Lord Vincent's carriage was at the door;