an any one tell me at what stage of
suffering it is a man abandons this unfailing friend as being powerless
to soothe?), he walks down the balcony steps, and, still grim and
unhappy, makes up his mind to a solitary promenade.

Perhaps he himself is scarcely conscious of the direction he takes, but
his footsteps guide him straight over the lawn and down to the very end
of it, where a broad stream runs babbling in one corner. It is a
veritable love-retreat, hedged in by larches and low-lying evergreens,
so as to be completely concealed from view, and a favorite haunt of
Molly's,--indeed, such a favorite that now as he enters it he finds
himself face to face with her.

An impromptu tableau follows. For a full minute they regard each other
unwillingly, too surprised for disdain, and then, with a laudable
desire to show how unworthy of consideration either deems the other,
they turn slowly away until a shoulder and half a face alone are
visible.

Now, Luttrell has the best of it, because he is the happy possessor of
the cigar: this gives him something to do, and he smokes on
persistently, not to say viciously. Miss Massereene, being without
occupation beyond what one's thumbs may afford, is conscious of being
at a disadvantage, and wishes she had earlier in life cultivated a
passion for tobacco.

Meanwhile, the noisy brook flows on merrily, chattering as it goes, and
reflecting the twinkling stars, with their more sedate brethren, the
planets. Deep down in the very heart of the water they lie, quivering,
changing, gleaming, while the stream whispers their lullaby and dashes
its cool soft sides against the banks. A solitary bird drops down to
crave a drink, terrifying the other inhabitants of the rushes by the
trembling of its wings; a frog creeps in with a dull splash; to all the
stream makes kind response; while on its bosom

"Broad water-lilies lay tremulously,
And starry river-buds glimmered by;
And round them the soft stream did glide and dance,
With a motion of sweet sound and radiance."

A little way above, a miniature cataract adds its tiny roar to the many
"breathings of the night;" at Molly's feet lie great bunches of blue
forget-me-nots.

Stooping, she gathers a handful to fasten at her breast; a few sprays
still remain in her hands idle; she has turned so that her full face is
to her companion: he has never stirred.

He is still puffing away in a somewhat indignant fashion at the
unoffe