and seen no one.'

'Och! didn't you hear? The poor mistress--she's as bad as bad can be.'
And then began a whispered confidence, broken short by Nutter's again
emerging, with the leather belt he wore at night on, and a short
back-sword, called a _coutteau de chasse_, therein, and a heavy
walking-cane in his hand.

'Get tea for me, wench, in half an hour,' said he, this time quite
quietly, though still sternly, and without seeming to observe the
quaking boy, who, at first sight, referred these martial preparations to
a resolution to do execution upon him forthwith; 'you'll find me in the
garden when it's ready.'

And he strode out, and pushing open the wicket door in the thick garden
hedge, and, with his cane shouldered, walked with a quick, resolute step
down towards the pretty walk by the river, with the thick privet hedge
and the row of old pear trees by it. And that was the last that was
heard or seen of Mr. Nutter for some time.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

SWANS ON THE WATER.

At about half-past six that evening, Puddock arrived at Captain Cluffe's
lodgings, and for the last time the minstrels rehearsed their lovelorn
and passionate ditties. They were drest 'all in their best,' under that
outer covering, which partly for mystery and partly for bodily
comfort--the wind, after the heavy rains of the last week, having come
round to the east--these prudent troubadours wore.

Though they hardly glanced at the topic to one another, each had his
delightful anticipations of the chances of the meeting. Puddock did not
value Dangerfield a rush, and Cluffe's mind was pretty easy upon that
point from the moment his proposal for Gertrude Chattesworth had taken
wind.

Only for that cursed shower the other night, that made it incumbent on
Cluffe, who had had two or three sharp little visits of his patrimonial
gout, and no notion of dying for love, to get to his quarters as quickly
as might be--he had no doubt that the last stave of their first duet
rising from the meadow of Belmont, with that charming roulade--devised
by Puddock, and the pathetic twang-twang of his romantic instrument,
would have been answered by the opening of the drawing-room window, and
Aunt Becky's imperious summons to the serenaders to declare themselves,
and come in and partake of supper!

The only thing that at all puzzled him, unpleasantly connected with that
unsuccessful little freak of musical love-making, was the fellow they
saw getting away f