Presently he wandered back into the house, and, filling his pipe, went
to hold communion with his friend--the Cavalier.

And thus it was that having ensconced himself in the great elbow-chair,
and raised his eyes to the picture, he espied a letter tucked into the
frame, thereof. Looking closer, he saw that it was directed to himself.
He took it down, and, after a momentary hesitation, broke the seal,
and read:

Miss Devine presents her compliments to Mr. Bellew, and regrets to say
that owing to unforeseen circumstances, she begs that he will provide
himself with other quarters at the expiration of the month, being the
Twenty-third inst.

Bellew read the lines slowly, twice over, then, folding the note very
carefully, put it into his pocket, and stood for a long time staring at
nothing in particular. At length he lifted his head, and looked up into
the smiling eyes of the Cavalier, above the mantel.

"Sir," said he, very gravely, "it would almost seem that you were in the
right of it,--that yours is the best method, after all!" Then he knocked
the ashes from his pipe, and went, slowly, and heavily, up-stairs
to bed.

It was a long time before he fell asleep, but he did so at last, for
Insomnia is a demon who rarely finds his way into Arcadia. But, all at
once, he was awake again,--broad awake, and staring into the dark, for a
thousand voices seemed to be screaming in his ears, and eager hands were
shaking, and plucking at window and lattice. He started up, and then he
knew that the storm was upon them, at last, in all its fury,--rain, and
a mighty wind,--a howling raging tempest. Yes, a great, and mighty wind
was abroad,--it shrieked under the eaves, it boomed and bellowed in the
chimneys, and roared away to carry destruction among the distant woods;
while the rain beat hissing against the window-panes.

Surely in all its many years the old house of Dapplemere had seldom
borne the brunt of such a storm, so wild,--so fierce, and pitiless!

And, lying there upon his bed, listening to the uproar, and tumult,
Bellew must needs think of her who had once said:

"We are placing all our hopes, this year, upon the hops!"

CHAPTER XXIII

_How Small Porges, in his hour of need, was deserted by his Uncle_

"Ruined, sir!--Done for!--Lord love me! they ain't worth the trouble o?
gatherin'--w'ot's left on 'em, Mr. Belloo sir."

"So bad as that, Adam?"

"Bad!--ah, so bad as ever was, sir!" said Adam, blinking suspici