un
shone?"

"You're not all theology yet!" said Mr. Motley. "Be quiet--can't you?
I'm not talking to you. We were sauntering down this same road,
doctor--after church,--falling in with the people, so that we could see
them and be taken for churchgoers. But there wasn't much to see.--Then
George declared that here was the place where Linden had secluded
himself for nobody knows what,--then we fell naturally into lamenting
the waste of such fine material, and conned over various particulars of
his former life and prospects--the great promise of past years, the
present melancholy mania to make money and be useful. Upon which points
George and I fought as usual. Then we grew tired of the subject and of
the mud--turned short about--and beheld--what do you suppose, doctor?"

"How far you had come for nothing?"

"Imagine," said Mr. Motley, taking out a fresh cigar and a match and
proceeding to put them to their respective uses,--"Imagine the vision
that appeared to Balaam's ass--and how the ass felt."

"Nay, that we cannot do," said Mr. Linden. "You tax us too far."

"In both requisitions--" added the doctor.

"There stood," said Mr. Motley, removing his cigar and waving it
gracefully in one hand. "There stood close behind us on the mud--she
could not have been in it--an immortal creature, in mortal merino!
We--transfixed, mute--stepped aside right and left to let her pass,--I
believe George had presence of mind enough to take off his hat; and
she--'severe in youthful beauty', glorious in youthful blushes--walked
on, looking full at us as she went. But such a look! and from such
eyes!--fabulous eyes, doctor, upon my honour. Then we saw that the
merino was only a disguise. Imagine a search warrant wrapped up in
moonbeams--imagine the blending of the softest sunset reflection with a
keen lightning flash,--and after all you have only words--not those
eyes. Linden!--seems to me your imagination serves you better
here,--your own eyes are worth looking at!"

"It has had more help from you," Mr. Linden said, controlling the
involuntary unbent play of eye and lip with which he had heard the
description.

"Well, George raved about them for a month," Mr. Motley went on, "and
staid in Pattaquasset a whole week to see them again--which he didn't;
so he made up his mind that they had escaped in the train of events--or
of ears, and now seeks them through the world. Some day he will meet
them in the possession of Mrs. Somebody--and