ess to preserve the air of an absorbed listener. I
had nothing but an innumerable multitude of visions, which assumed
alternately the shape of Nora and of Marion. When at length I rose to
go, O'Halloran begged me to stay longer. But, on looking at my watch, I
found it was half-past three, and so suggested in a general way that
perhaps I'd better be in bed. Whereupon he informed me that he would
not be at home on the following evening, but wouldn't I come the
evening after. I told him I'd be very happy. But suddenly I recollected
an engagement. "Well, will you be at leisure on the next evening?" said
he. I told him I would be, and so I left, with the intention of
returning on the third evening from that time.

I got home and went to bed; and in my dreams I renewed the events of
that evening. Not the latter part of it, but the former part. There,
before me, floated the forms of Nora and of Marion, the one all smiles,
the other all gloom--the one all jest and laughter, the other silent
and sombre--the one casting at me the glowing light of her soft,
innocent, laughing eyes; the other flinging at me from her dark,
lustrous orbs glances that pierced my soul. I'm an impressible man, I
own it. I can't help it. I was so made. I'm awfully susceptible. And
so, 'pon my honor, for the life of me I couldn't tell which I admired
most of these two fascinating, bewildering, lovely, bewitching, yet
totally different beings. "Oh, Nora!" I cried--and immediately after,
"Oh, Marion!"

CHAPTER XXI.

JACK ONCE MORE.--THE WOES OF A LOVER.--NOT WISELY BUT TOO MANY.--WHILE
JACK IS TELLING HIS LITTLE STORY, THE ONES WHOM HE THUS ENTERTAINS HAVE
A SEPARATE MEETING.--THE BURSTING OF THE STORM.--THE LETTER OF "NUMBER
THREE."--THE WIDOW AND MISS PHILLIPS.--JACK HAS TO AVAIL HIMSELF OF THE
AID OF A CHAPLAIN Of HER MAJESTY'S FORCES.--JACK AN INJURED MAN.

It was late on the following morning when I rose. I expected to see
Jack bouncing in, but there were no signs of him. I went about on my
usual round, but he didn't turn up. I asked some of the other fellows,
but none of them had seen him. I began to be anxious. Duns were abroad.
Jack was in peril. The sheriff was near. There was no joke in it.
Perhaps he was nabbed, or perhaps he was in hiding. The fact that no
one had seen him was a very solemn and a very portentous one. I said
nothing about my feelings, but, as the day wore on without bringing any
sign of him, I began to be more anxio