gures
first sat down--and yet they had moved not. The crowd of loungers had
thinned and dispersed; the noise of itinerant musicians had died away;
light after light had appeared in the windows of the different houses in
the distance; blockade-man after blockade-man had passed the spot,
wending his way towards his solitary post; and yet those figures had
remained stationary. Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow,
but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a
glazed stock. Mr. Cymon Tuggs and Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on
that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea.

'Walter will return to-morrow,' said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully
breaking silence.

Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry
bushes, as he replied, 'Alas! he will.'

'Oh, Cymon!' resumed Belinda, 'the chaste delight, the calm happiness, of
this one week of Platonic love, is too much for me!' Cymon was about to
suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself, and
murmured unintelligibly.

'And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is,'
exclaimed Belinda, 'is now to be lost for ever!'

'Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda,' exclaimed the excitable Cymon, as two
strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face--it was so
long that there was plenty of room for a chase. 'Do not say for ever!'

'I must,' replied Belinda.

'Why?' urged Cymon, 'oh why? Such Platonic acquaintance as ours is so
harmless, that even your husband can never object to it.'

'My husband!' exclaimed Belinda. 'You little know him. Jealous and
revengeful; ferocious in his revenge--a maniac in his jealousy! Would
you be assassinated before my eyes?' Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a voice broken
by emotion, expressed his disinclination to undergo the process of
assassination before the eyes of anybody.

'Then leave me,' said Mrs. Captain Waters. 'Leave me, this night, for
ever. It is late: let us return.'

Mr. Cymon Tuggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her to her
lodgings. He paused at the door--he felt a Platonic pressure of his
hand. 'Good night,' he said, hesitating.

'Good night,' sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again.

'Won't you walk in, sir?' said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh,
that hesitation! He _did_ walk in.

'Good night!' said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached the
drawing-room.

'Good