a chance of his keeping his appointment. But there's not the
least reason in the world why I should stand in the way on that account.
You have the major and Mr. Pedgift to take care of you; and you can get
back to the carriages before dark, if you go at once. I will wait here,
and give my friend half an hour more, and then I can follow you in one
of the reed-cutters' boats."

"That's the most sensible thing, Mr. Armadale, you've said to-day,"
remarked Mrs. Pentecost, seating herself again in a violent hurry

"Tell them to be quick!" cried the old lady, shaking her fist at the
boatmen. "Tell them to be quick!"

Allan gave the necessary directions, and stepped on shore. The wary
Pedgift (sticking fast to his client) tried to follow.

"We can't leave you here alone, sir," he said, protesting eagerly in
a whisper. "Let the major take care of the ladies, and let me keep you
company at the Mere."

"No, no!" said Allan, pressing him back. "They're all in low spirits on
board. If you want to be of service to me, stop like a good fellow where
you are, and do your best to keep the thing going."

He waved his hand, and the men pushed the boat off from the shore. The
others all waved their hands in return except the major's daughter, who
sat apart from the rest, with her face hidden under her parasol. The
tears stood thick in Neelie's eyes. Her last angry feeling against Allan
died out, and her heart went back to him penitently the moment he left
the boat. "How good he is to us all!" she thought, "and what a wretch I
am!" She got up with every generous impulse in her nature urging her to
make atonement to him. She got up, reckless of appearances and looked
after him with eager eyes and flushed checks, as he stood alone on
the shore. "Don't be long, Mr. Armadale!" she said, with a desperate
disregard of what the rest of the company thought of her.

The boat was already far out in the water, and with all Neelie's
resolution the words were spoken in a faint little voice, which failed
to reach Allan's ears. The one sound he heard, as the boat gained the
opposite extremity of the Mere, and disappeared slowly among the reeds,
was the sound of the concertina. The indefatigable Pedgift was keeping
things going--evidently under the auspices of Mrs. Pentecost--by
performing a sacred melody.

Left by himself, Allan lit a cigar, and took a turn backward and forward
on the shore. "She might have said a word to me at parting!" he though