like manner, when Harry beheld his former friend a woman, with
beaming eyes and clustering ringlets, and--(there, we won't attempt
it!)--in fact, surrounded by every nameless and nameable grace that
makes woman exasperatingly delightful, his heart performed the same
eccentric movement, and he felt that his fate was sealed; that he had
been sucked into a rapid which was too strong even for his expert and
powerful arm to contend against, and that he must drift with the current
now, _nolens volens_, and run it as he best could.

When Kate retired to her sleeping-apartment that night, she endeavoured
to comport herself in her usual manner; but all her efforts failed. She
sat down on her bed, and remained motionless for half an hour; then she
started and sighed deeply; then she smiled and opened her Bible, but
forgot to read it; then she rose hastily, sighed again, took off her
gown, hang it up on a peg, and, returning to the dressing-table, sat
down on her best bonnet; then she cried a little, at which point the
candle suddenly went out; so she gave a slight scream, and at last went
to bed in the dark.

Three hours afterwards, Harry Somerville, who had been enjoying a cigar
and a chat with Charley and his father, rose, and bidding his friends
good-night, retired to his chamber, where he flung himself down on a
chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, stretched out his legs, gazed
abstractedly before him, and exclaimed--"O Kate, my exquisite girl,
you've floored me quite flat!"

As he continued to sit in silence, the gaze of affection gradually and
slowly changed into a look of intense astonishment as he beheld the grey
cat sitting comfortably on the table, and regarding him with a look of
complacent interest, as if it thought Harry's style of addressing it was
highly satisfactory--though rather unusual.

"Brute!" exclaimed Harry, springing from his seat and darting towards
it. But the cat was too well accustomed to old Mr Kennedy's sudden
onsets to be easily taken by surprise. With a bound it reached the
floor, and took shelter under the bed, whence it was not ejected until
Harry, having first thrown his shoes, soap, clothes-brush, and
razor-strop at it, besides two or three books and several miscellaneous
articles of toilet, at last opened the door (a thing, by the way, that
people would do well always to remember before endeavouring to expel a
cat from an impregnable position), and drew the bed into the middle of