uld have been much more so, however, had not long experience advised
me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusiastic
descriptions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in comments upon
the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I well knew with
what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal.

The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly
plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think, very
far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste--and then I
had no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by the more
enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few words, and
passed at once into her stateroom with Mr. W.

My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was _no_ servant--_that_ was
a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some
delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was
everything that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we
made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and standing out
to sea.

The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in
length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and like
to be precise. Now this shape was _peculiar_; and no sooner had I seen
it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my guessing. I had
reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage of
my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at least a
picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference with
Nicolino; and now here was a box which, from its shape, _could_ possibly
contain nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;" and
a copy of this very "Last Supper," done by Rubini the younger at
Florence, I had known, for some time, to be in the possession of
Nicolino. This point, therefore. I considered as sufficiently settled. I
chuckled excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time
I ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but
here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine
picture to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know nothing of
the matter. I resolved to quiz him _well_, now and hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did _not_ go into
the extra stateroom. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it
remained, occupying nearly