shame to part 'em!" But this
chambermaid was always, as Boots informs me, a soft-hearted one. Not
that there was any harm in that girl. Far from it.

Finally, Boots says, that's all about it. Mr. Walmers drove away in the
chaise, having hold of Master Harry's hand. The elderly lady and Mrs.
Harry Walmers, Junior, that was never to be (she married a Captain long
afterwards, and died in India), went off next day. In conclusion, Boots
put it to me whether I hold with him in two opinions: firstly, that there
are not many couples on their way to be married who are half as innocent
of guile as those two children; secondly, that it would be a jolly good
thing for a great many couples on their way to be married, if they could
only be stopped in time, and brought back separately.

THIRD BRANCH--THE BILL

I had been snowed up a whole week. The time had hung so lightly on my
hands, that I should have been in great doubt of the fact but for a piece
of documentary evidence that lay upon my table.

The road had been dug out of the snow on the previous day, and the
document in question was my bill. It testified emphatically to my having
eaten and drunk, and warmed myself, and slept among the sheltering
branches of the Holly-Tree, seven days and nights.

I had yesterday allowed the road twenty-four hours to improve itself,
finding that I required that additional margin of time for the completion
of my task. I had ordered my Bill to be upon the table, and a chaise to
be at the door, "at eight o'clock to-morrow evening." It was eight
o'clock to-morrow evening when I buckled up my travelling writing-desk in
its leather case, paid my Bill, and got on my warm coats and wrappers. Of
course, no time now remained for my travelling on to add a frozen tear to
the icicles which were doubtless hanging plentifully about the farmhouse
where I had first seen Angela. What I had to do was to get across to
Liverpool by the shortest open road, there to meet my heavy baggage and
embark. It was quite enough to do, and I had not an hour too much time
to do it in.

I had taken leave of all my Holly-Tree friends--almost, for the time
being, of my bashfulness too--and was standing for half a minute at the
Inn door watching the ostler as he took another turn at the cord which
tied my portmanteau on the chaise, when I saw lamps coming down towards
the Holly-Tree. The road was so padded with snow that no wheels were
audible; but all o