med to own that his return was owing to his inability to
ride, Jerome resolved to feign sickness. The doctor came, felt his
pulse, examined his tongue, and pronounced him a sick man. He
immediately ordered a tepid bath, and sent for a couple of leeches.

Seeing things taking such a serious turn, the American began to regret
the part he was playing; for there was no fun in being rubbed and
leeched when one was in perfect health. He had gone too far to recede,
however, and so submitted quietly to the directions of the doctor; and,
after following the injunctions given by that learned Esculapius, was
put to bed.

Shortly after, the sound of the horns and the yelp of the hounds
announced that the poor fox had taken the back track, and was repassing
near the house. Even the pleasure of witnessing the beautiful sight
from the window was denied to our hero; for the physician had ordered
that he must be kept in perfect quiet.

The chase was at last over, and the huntsmen all in, sympathizing with
their lost companion. After nine days of sweating, blistering and
leeching, Jerome left his bed convalescent, but much reduced in flesh
and strength. This was his first and last attempt to follow the fox and
hounds.

During his fortnight's stay at Colonel G.'s, Jerome spent most of his
time in the magnificent library. Claude did not watch with more
interest every color of the skies, the trees, the grass, and the water,
to learn from nature, than did this son of a despised race search books
to obtain that knowledge which his early life as a slave had denied him.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING.

After more than a fortnight spent in the highlands of Scotland, Jerome
passed hastily through London on his way to the continent.

It was toward sunset, on a warm day in October, shortly after his
arrival in France, that, after strolling some distance from the Hotel
de Leon, in the old and picturesque town of Dunkirk, he entered a
burial ground--such places being always favorite walks with him--and
wandered around among the silent dead. All nature around was hushed in
silence, and seemed to partake of the general melancholy that hung over
the quiet resting-place of the departed. Even the birds seemed imbued
with the spirit of the place, for they were silent, either flying
noiselessly over the graves, or jumping about in the tall grass. After
tracing the various inscriptions that told the characters and
conditions of the decea