; five--there, stop! If we enter
into another alliance with those infernal ruffians!--if they're not
branded in the face of Europe as inhuman butchers! if I--by George! if I
were an Italian I'd handle a musket myself, and think great guns the
finest music going. Mind, if there's a subscription for the widows of
these poor fellows, I put down my name; so shall my wife, so shall my
daughters, so we will all, down to the baby!"

Merthyr's name was shouted first on his return to England by Mrs. Chump.
He was waiting on the platform of the London station for the train to
take him to Richford, when, "Oh! Mr. Pow's, Mr. Pow's!" resounded, and
Mrs. Chump fluttered before him. She was on her way to Brookfield, she
said; and it was, she added, her firm belief that heaven had sent him to
her sad, not deeming "that poor creature, Mr. Braintop, there, sufficient
for the purpose. For what I've got to go through, among them at
Brookfield, Mr. Pow's, it's perf'ctly awful. Mr. Braintop," she turned to
the youth, "you may go now. And don't go takin' ship and sailin' for
Italy after the little Belloni, for ye haven't a chance--poor fella!
though he combs 's hair so careful, Mr. Pow's, and ye might almost laugh
and cry together to see how humble he is, and audacious too--all in a
lump. For, when little Belloni was in the ship, ye know, and she
thinkin', 'not one of my friends near to wave a handkerchief!' behold,
there's that boy Braintop just as by maguc, and he wavin' his best, which
is a cambric, and a present from myself, and precious wet that night, ye
might swear; for the quiet lovers, Mr. Pow's, they cry, they do,
buckutsful!"

"And is Miss Belloni gone?" said Merthyr, looking steadily for answer.

"To be sure, sir, she has; but have ye got a squeak of pain? Oh, dear! it
makes my blood creep to see a man who's been where there's been firing of
shots in a temper. Ye're vary pale, sir."

"She went--on what day?" asked Merthyr.

"Oh! I can't poss'bly tell ye that, Mr. Pow's, havin' affairs of my own
most urrgent. But, Mr. Paricles has got her at last. That's certain.
Gall'ns of tears has poor Mr. Braintop cried over it, bein' one of the
mew-in-a-corner sort of young men, ye know, what never win the garl, but
cry enough to float her and the lucky fella too, and off they go, and he
left on the shore."

Merthyr looked impatiently out of the window. His wounds throbbed and his
forehead was moist.

"With Mr. Pericles?" he queried, w