out to sea in search of a new prize. The merry voices and the loud
laughter, however, that rose above all other sounds, told that
good-humour and goodwill never deserted them in all the ardour of the
contest.

Long after the priest left me, I continued to watch them. At last I set
myself to explore the good father's shelves, which I found, for the most
part, were filled with portly tomes of divinity and polemics--huge folio
copies of Saint Augustine, Origen, Eusebius, and others; innumerable
volumes of learned tractates on disputed points in theology--none of
which possessed any interest for me. In one corner, however, beside the
fire, whose convenience to the habitual seat of Father Tom argued that
they were not least in favour with his reverence, was an admirable
collection of the French dramatists--Moliere, Beaumarchais, Racine, and
several more. These were a real treat; and seating myself beside the
window, I prepared, for about the twentieth time in my life, to read _La
Folle Journee_.

I had scarcely got to the end of the second act, when the door was
gently opened, and Mary made her appearance--not in the deshabille of
the morning, however, but with a trim cotton gown, and smart shoes and
stockings; her hair, too, was neatly dressed, in the country fashion.
Yet still I was more than half disposed to think she looked even better
in her morning costume.

The critical scrutiny of my glance had evidently disconcerted her, and
made her, for the moment, forget the object of her coming. She looked
down and blushed; she fiddled with the corner of her apron, and at last,
recollecting herself, she dropped a little curtsy, and, opening the door
wide, announced Sir Simon Bellew.

'Mr. Hinton, I believe,' said Sir Simon, with a slight smile, as he
bowed himself into the apartment; 'will you allow me to introduce
myself--Sir Simon Bellew.'

The baronet was a tall, thin, meagre-looking old man, somewhat stooped
by age, but preserving, both in look and gesture, not only the remains
of good looks, but the evident traces of one habituated to the world.
His dress was very plain; but the scrupulous exactitude of his powdered
cue, and the massive gold-headed cane he carried, showed he had not
abandoned those marks of his position so distinctive of rank in those
days. He wore, also, large and handsome buckles in his shoes; but in
every other particular his costume was simplicity itself. Conversing
with an ease which evinced hi