s to their nature,--a sort of rollicking tone which is to the
voice what swagger is to, the gait. Still that look! it produced on you
the effect which might be created by some strange animal, not without
beauty, but deadly to man. Wayfarer the Second was big and burly,
middle-aged, large-whiskered, his complexion dirty. He wore a wig,--a
wig evident, unmistakable,--a wig curled and rusty,--over the wig a
dingy white hat. His black stock fitted tight round his throat, and
across his breast he had thrown the folds of a Scotch plaid.

WAYFARER THE FIRST.--"YOU call here, too,--on Mrs. Crane?"

WAYFARER THE SECOND.--"Mrs. Crane? you too? Strange!"

WAYFARER THE FIRST (with constrained civility).--"Sir, I call on
business,--private business."

WAYFARER THE SECOND (with candid surliness).--"So do I."

WAYFARER THE FIRST.--"Oh!"

WAYFARER THE SECOND.--"Ha! the locks unbar!"

The door opened, and an old meagre woman-servant presented herself.

WAYFARER THE FIRST (gliding before the big man with a serpent's
undulating celerity of movement).--"Mrs. Crane lives here?"--"Yes!"
"She's at home I suppose?"--"Yes!"--"Take up my card; say I come alone,
not with this gentleman."

Wayfarer the Second seems to have been rather put out by the manner of
his rival. He recedes a step.

"You know the lady of this mansion well, sir?" "Extremely well."

"Ha! then I yield you the precedence; I yield it, sir, but
conditionally. You will not be long?"

"Not a moment longer than I can help; the land will be clear for you in
an hour or less."

"Or less, so please you, let it be or less. Servant, sir."

"Sir, yours: come, my Hebe, track the dancers; that is, go up the
stairs, and let me renew the dreams of youth in the eyes of Bella!"

The old woman meanwhile had been turning over the card in her withered
palm, looking from the card to the visitor's face, and then to the card
again, and mumbling to herself. At length she spoke:

"You, Mr. Losely! you!--Jasper Losely! how you be changed! what ha' ye
done to yourself? where's your comeliness? where's the look that stole
ladies' hearts? you, Jasper Losely! you are his goblin!"

"Hold your peace, old hussey!" said the visitor, evidently annoyed at
remarks so disparaging. "I am Jasper Losely, more bronzed of cheek, more
iron of hand." He raised his switch with a threatening gesture, that
might be in play, for the lips wore smiles, or might be in earnest,
for the brows were bent; and push