ho had been condoling with himself over the exciting
scene he expected, so uncomfortable a conclusion to a long day's labour,
how was it he did not look relieved when that scene was spared him? To
tell the truth, when one has been expecting something to happen, of
whatever description, and has been preparing one's courage, one's
temper, one's fortitude, in anticipatory rehearsals--when one has placed
one's self in the attitude of a martyr, and prepared to meet with fiery
trials--it is mortifying, to say the least, when one finds all the
necessities of the case disappear, and the mildest calm replace that
tragical anticipation: the quiet falls blank upon the excited fancy. Of
course Dr Rider was relieved; but it was with something mightily like
disappointment that he leant back in his chair and knitted his brows at
the opposite wall. Not for the world would he have acknowledged himself
to be disappointed; but the calm was wonderfully monotonous after all
those expectations. He was never so bored and sick of a night by
himself. He tried to read, but reading did not occupy his mind. He grew
furious over his charred chops and sodden potatoes. As for the tea Mary
brought, he would have gladly pitched it at her by way of diversifying
that blank evening with an incident. The contrast between what he had
looked for and what he had, was wonderful. How delicious this stillness
should have been, this consciousness of having his house to himself, and
nobody to interrupt his brief repose! But somehow it appears that human
nature takes best with not having its wishes granted. It is indescribable
how Dr Rider yawned--how dull he found his newspaper--how few books
worth reading there were in the house--how slow the minutes ran on.
If somebody had chosen to be ill that night, of all nights the best
for such a purpose, the doctor would not have objected to such an
interruption. Failing that, he went to bed early, dreadfully tired of
his own society. Such were the wonderful results of that invasion so
much dreaded, and that retreat so much hoped for. Perhaps his own
society had never in his life been so distasteful to him before.

CHAPTER III.

Next day Dr Rider audibly congratulated himself at breakfast upon having
once more his house to himself--audibly, as if it were really necessary
to give utterance to the thought before he could quite feel its force.
A week before, if Fred had departed, however summarily, there can be no
do