tle way down Kirk Street, at the end by which Zack and his friend
entered it on returning from Mr. Blyth's, stood the local theater--all
ablaze with dazzling gas, and all astir with loitering blackguards.
Young Thorpe stopped, as he and his companion passed under the portico,
on the way to their lodgings further up the street.

"It's only half-past ten, now," he said. "I shall drop in here, and see
the last scenes of the pantomime. Won't you come too?"

"No," said Mat; "I'm too sleepy. I shall go on home."

They separated. While Zack entered the theater, Mat proceeded steadily
in the direction of the tobacco shop. As soon, however, as he was well
out of the glare of gas from the theater door, he crossed the street;
and, returning quickly by the opposite side of the way, took the road
that led him back to Valentine's house.

CHAPTER XII. THE HAIR BRACELET.

Mr. Blyth's spirits sank apace, as he bolted and locked the front door,
when his guests had left him. He actually sighed as he now took a turn
or two alone, up and down the studio.

Three times did he approach close to the garden door, as he walked
slowly from end to end of the room. But he never once looked up at
it. His thoughts were wandering after Zack, and Zack's friend; and his
attention was keeping them company. "Whoever this mysterious Mat may
be," mused Valentine, stopping at the fourth turn, and walking up to
the fireplace; "I don't believe there's anything bad about him; and so I
shall tell Mrs. Thorpe the next time I see her."

He set himself to rake out the fire, leaving only a few red embers
and tiny morsels of coal to flame up fitfully from time to time in the
bottom of the grate. Having done this, he stood and warmed himself for
a little while, and tried to whistle a favorite tune. The attempt was a
total failure. He broke down at the third bar, and ended lamentably in
another sigh.

"What can be the matter with me? I never felt so miserable about going
away from home before." Puzzling himself uselessly with such reflections
as these, he went to the supper-table, and drank a glass of wine, picked
a bit of a sandwich, and unnecessarily spoilt the appearance of two
sponge cakes, by absently breaking a small piece off each of them. He
was in no better humor for eating or drinking, than for whistling; so he
wisely determined to light his candle forthwith, and go to bed.

After extinguishing the lights that had been burning on the
supper-tab