g all, was
nevertheless haunted by a queer recollection of Lance and his dog, and
thinking that French dogs were not devoid of sympathy, and that the part
of Crab was left for Arthur.

However, the last embrace was given, and the ladies were all packed in,
while the Abbe with his breast heaving with sobs, his big hat in one
hand, and a huge silk pocket-handkerchief in the other, did not forget
his manners, but waved to Arthur to ascend the steps first. 'Secretary,
not guest. You must remember that another time,' said Lord Nithsdale.
'God bless you, my dear lad, and bring you safe back to bonny Scotland, a
true and leal heart.'

Arthur wrung his friend's hand once more, and disappeared into the
vehicle; Nurse Honor made one more rush, and uttered another 'Ohone' over
Abbe Phelim, who followed into the carriage; the door was shut; there was
a last wail over 'Lanty, the sunbeam of me heart,' as he climbed to the
box seat; the harness jingled; coachman and postilions cracked their
whips, the impatient horses dashed out at the _porte cochere_; and
Arthur, after endeavouring to dispose of his legs, looked about him, and
saw, opposite to him, Madame de Bourke lying back in the corner in a
transport of grief, one arm round her daughter, and her little son lying
across her lap, both sobbing and crying; and on one side of him the Abbe,
sunk in his corner, his yellow silk handkerchief over his face; on the
other, Mademoiselle Julienne, who was crying too, but with more
moderation, perhaps more out of propriety or from infection than from
actual grief: at any rate she had more of her senses about her than any
one else, and managed to dispose of the various loose articles that had
been thrown after the travellers, in pockets and under cushions. Arthur
would have assisted, but only succeeded in treading on various toes and
eliciting some small shrieks, which disconcerted him all the more, and
made Mademoiselle Julienne look daggers at him, as she relieved her lady
of little Ulysse, lifting him to her own knee, where, as he was
absolutely exhausted with crying, he fell asleep.

Arthur hoped the others would do the same, and perhaps there was more
dozing than they would have confessed; but whenever there was a movement,
and some familiar object in the streets of Paris struck the eye of
Madame, the Abbe, or Estelle, there was a little cry, and they went off
on a fresh score.

'Poor wretched weak creatures!' he said to himself, as