ed almost bursting with suppressed passion.
For an instant it was even doubtful if he could master his struggling
wrath. At last he grasped the heavy chair he had been sitting on, and
dashing it down on the ground, broke it into atoms; and then, with
an execration in Irish, the very sound of which rang like a curse, he
strode out of the shop, and hastened down the street.

[Illustration: 278]

Many a group of merry children, many a morning excursionist returning
from his donkey-ride, remarked the large old man, who, muttering and
gesticulating, as he went, strode along the causeway, not heeding nor
noticing those around him. Others made way for him as for one it were
not safe to obstruct, and none ventured a word as he passed by. On he
went, careless of the burning heat and the hot rays of the sun,--against
which already many a jalousie was closed, and many an awning spread,--up
the main street of the town, across the "Plate," and then took his way
up one of the steep and narrow lanes which led towards the upper town.
To see him, nothing could look more purpose-like than his pace and the
manner of his going; and yet he knew nothing of where he walked nor
whither the path led him. A kind of instinct directed his steps into an
old and oft-followed track, but his thoughts were bent on other objects.
He neither saw the half-terrified glances that were turned on him, nor
marked how they who were washing at the fountain ceased their work, as
he passed, to stare at him.

At last he reached the upper town; emerging from which by a steep flight
of narrow stone steps, he gained a little terraced spot of ground,
crossed by two rows of linden-trees, under whose shade he had often sat
of an evening to watch the sunset over the plain. He did not halt here,
but passing across the grassy sward, made for a small low house which
stood at the angle of the terrace. The shutters of the shop-window were
closed, but a low half-door permitted a view of the interior; leaning
over which Dalton remained for several minutes, as if lost in deep
revery.

The silent loneliness of the little shop at first appeared to engross
all his attention, but after a while other thoughts came slowly
flittering through his muddy faculties, and with a deep-drawn sigh he
said,----

"Dear me! but I thought we were living here still! It's droll enough how
one can forget himself! Hans, Hans Roeckle, my man!" cried he, beating
with his stick against the doors as h