ng, and you'd come back here in the evening with no Charlotte
and only fishes.'

'Tut, tut--well do I now know what is the object I have in view.'

'Don't be so proud. Remember Pilatus.'

'Tut, tut. Thou art beginning to be like a conscience to me, rebuking
and urging onwards the poor old man in bewildering alternations. But I
tell thee there is no hope of setting sail without the English madam
unless thou remainest here while I secretly slip away.'

'I won't remain here. I'm coming too. Leave the arrangements to me,
dearest Professor, and you'll see we'll secretly slip away together.'

Mrs. Harvey-Browne sweeping in at that moment in impressive garments
that trailed, our conversation had to end abruptly. The landlord lit the
candles; the landlady brought in the soup; Brosy appeared dressed as one
dresses in civilised regions. 'Cheer up,' I whispered to the Professor
as I got up from the sofa; and he cheered up so immediately and so
excessively that before I could stop him, before I could realise what he
was going to do, he had actually chucked me under the chin.

We spent a constrained evening. The one remark Mrs. Harvey-Browne
addressed to me during the hours that followed this chin-chucking was:
'I am altogether at a loss to understand Frau Nieberlein's having
retired, without her husband, to yet another island. Why this
regrettable multiplicity of islands?'

To which I could only answer that I did not know.

The next day being Sunday, a small boy went up into the wooden belfry of
the church, which was just opposite my window, and began to toll two
bells. The belfry is built separate from the church, and commands a view
into the room of the inn that was my bedroom. I could see the small boy
walking leisurely from bell to bell, giving each a pull, and then
refreshing himself by leaning out and staring hard at me. I got my
opera-glasses and examined him with equal care, trying to stare him out
of countenance; but though a small he was also a bold boy and not to be
abashed, and as I would not give in either we stared at each other
steadily between the tolls till nine o'clock, when the bell-ringing
ceased, service began, and he reluctantly went down into the church,
where I suppose he had to join in the singing of the tune to which in
England the hymn beginning 'All glory, laud, and honour,' is sung, for
it presently floated out into the quiet little market-place, filling it
with the feeling of Sunday. While I li