disposed of that clever child to a
vagabond like Rugge: she plays admirably. The manager who was to have
engaged him would have engaged her if he had seen her. I am puzzled."

LIONEL.--"True, she is an extraordinary child. I cannot say how she has
interested me." He took out his purse, and began counting its contents.
"I have nearly three pounds left," he cried joyously. "L2. 18s. if
I give up the thought of a longer excursion with you, and go quietly
home--"

VANCE.--"And not pay your share of the bill yonder?"

LIONEL.--"Ah, I forgot that! But come, I am not too proud to borrow from
you: it is not for a selfish purpose."

VANCE.--"Borrow from me, Cato! That comes of falling in with bandits and
their children. No; but let us look at the thing like men of sense.
One story is good till another is told. I will call by myself on Rugge
to-morrow, and hear what he says; and then, if we judge favourably of
the Cobbler's version, we will go at night and talk with the Cobbler's
lodgers; and I dare say," added Vance, kindly, but with a sigh,--"I
daresay the three pounds will be coaxed out of me! After all, her head
is worth it. I want an idea for Titania."

LIONEL (joyously).--"My dear Vance, you are the best fellow in the
world."

VANCE.--"Small compliment to humankind! Take the oars: it is your turn
now."

Lionel obeyed; the boat once more danced along the tide--thoro'
reeds,---thoro' waves, skirting the grassy islet--out into pale
moonlight. They talked but by fits and starts. What of?--a thousand
things! Bright young hearts, eloquent young tongues! No sins in the
past; hopes gleaming through the future. O summer nights, on the glass
of starry waves! O Youth, Youth!

CHAPTER VI.

Wherein the historian tracks the public characters that fret their
hour on the stage, into the bosom of private life.--The reader is
invited to arrive at a conclusion which may often, in periods of
perplexity, restore ease to his mind; namely, that if man will
reflect on all the hopes he has nourished, all the fears he has
admitted, all the projects he has formed, the wisest thing he can
do, nine times out of ten, with hope, fear, and project, is to let
them end with the chapter--in smoke.

It was past nine o'clock in the evening of the following day. The
exhibition at Mr. Rugge's theatre had closed for the season in that
village, for it was the conclusion of the fair. The final performance
had been begun