old way to-night, Erle, while you tell your old story, and drink
as our fathers did, not vile alcohols, but the good fruit of the vine.
Remember, Thesta, I leave you all my wine, on condition that you drink
it, and never let a drop of whiskey come into your house."

"I promise," I said, and sat down at his feet.

"Perhaps you have heard of Lillie Burton?" Mr. Erle began.

I had a confused idea that the name of his wife was Lillie; but it was
so confused that I answered, frankly, "No, I never heard of her at all."

"She is not Lillie Burton now," he went on with a sigh; "but I must
begin at the beginning. It is a real horse story, which will tell in its
favor with you, I am sure."

"Yes, indeed," I answered, with enthusiasm, and then he began anew.

"I was a gay, happy man of twenty-four, living in London with my dear
friend, now dead, Richard Satterlee. We imagined ourselves very tired of
town gayeties, and were languidly looking round for some country-place
where we could be alone and quiet for a week or so, when the little
incident occurred which led to my acquaintance with Lillie Burton. I
must tell you that Satterlee and I were used up in more ways than
one,--we had been unfortunate at the races that year, and so were well
out of pocket, and I had not escaped heart-free from the season's balls,
as Dick had, who, bless his honest soul, was as unmoved as a rock among
the fairest women of the land. Not that they were indifferent to him,
though. His broad shoulders and downcast eyes made sad havoc among them,
Miss Thesta,--so beware of those attractions among the men you meet:
there are none more deadly. Well, they loved Dick, and I loved Miss
Ferrers. She was not very handsome, but more fascinating to me than any
other woman, and as thorough a flirt as ever made a man miserable. Never
mind the how and why, but, believe me, I was very hard hit indeed, and
sincerely thought myself the most wretched man in all London when I
heard that she had gone to Spain with her brother-in-law, Lord West, and
his wife. She had treated me shamefully; but I loved her all the more
for it, and was quite desperate, in short. You may not think it of me,
but I could neither sleep nor eat. In this state of mind I was walking
home one afternoon, determined to tell Satterlee that I should leave
him, and go back to my people in America, when I saw a small crowd
ahead, and heard them cheer before they broke up and walked away. I
should have