he voice of Belle was drowned in her sobs.

'I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle,' said I. 'I really have
given you no cause to be so unhappy. Surely teaching you a little
Armenian was a very innocent kind of diversion.'

'Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange way, and made me
repeat such strange examples, as you call them, that I could not bear
it.'

'Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it's my way; and I have dealt with
you just as I would with--'

'A hard-mouthed jade,' said Belle, 'and you practising your
horse-witchery upon her. I have been of an unsubdued spirit, I
acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; and if you have made me cry,
it's a poor thing to boast of.'

'Boast of!' said I; 'a pretty thing indeed to boast of; I had no idea of
making you cry. Come, I beg your pardon: what more can I do? Come,
cheer up, Belle. You were talking of parting; don't let us part, but
depart, and that together.'

'Our ways lie different,' said Belle.

'I don't see why they should,' said I. 'Come, let us be off to America
together.'

'To America together?' said Belle, looking full at me.

'Yes,' said I; 'where we will settle down in some forest, and conjugate
the verb siriel conjugally.'

'Conjugally?' said Belle.

'Yes,' said I; 'as man and wife in America, air yew ghin.'

'You are jesting as usual,' said Belle.

'Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off to
America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and languages behind us.'

'I don't think you are jesting,' said Belle; 'but I can hardly entertain
your offers. However, young man, I thank you.'

'You had better make up your mind at once,' said I, 'and let us be off.
I shan't make a bad husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think I am not
worthy of you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a
fall with you this moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore
that no one should marry her who could not fling her down. Perhaps you
have done the same. The man who eventually married her, got a friend of
his, who was called Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her,
disguising him in his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for
his friend, though he loved her himself. I shall not use a similar
deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me--so get up, Belle,
and I will do my best to fling you down.'

'I require no such thing of you, or anybody,' said Belle; 'yo