foot in new Bank notes. Take
care of her, and there's my hand, and thank you again.'

'I'll take more care of her than if she was a gold image,' said Sloppy,
'and there's both MY hands, Miss, and I'll soon come back again.'

But, the greatest event of all, in the new life of Mr and Mrs John
Harmon, was a visit from Mr and Mrs Eugene Wrayburn. Sadly wan and worn
was the once gallant Eugene, and walked resting on his wife's arm, and
leaning heavily upon a stick. But, he was daily growing stronger and
better, and it was declared by the medical attendants that he might not
be much disfigured by-and-by. It was a grand event, indeed, when Mr
and Mrs Eugene Wrayburn came to stay at Mr and Mrs John Harmon's house:
where, by the way, Mr and Mrs Boffin (exquisitely happy, and daily
cruising about, to look at shops,) were likewise staying indefinitely.

To Mr Eugene Wrayburn, in confidence, did Mrs John Harmon impart what
she had known of the state of his wife's affections, in his reckless
time. And to Mrs John Harmon, in confidence, did Mr Eugene Wrayburn
impart that, please God, she should see how his wife had changed him!

'I make no protestations,' said Eugene; '--who does, who means them!--I
have made a resolution.'

'But would you believe, Bella,' interposed his wife, coming to resume
her nurse's place at his side, for he never got on well without her:
'that on our wedding day he told me he almost thought the best thing he
could do, was to die?'

'As I didn't do it, Lizzie,' said Eugene, 'I'll do that better thing you
suggested--for your sake.'

That same afternoon, Eugene lying on his couch in his own room upstairs,
Lightwood came to chat with him, while Bella took his wife out for a
ride. 'Nothing short of force will make her go, Eugene had said; so,
Bella had playfully forced her.

'Dear old fellow,' Eugene began with Lightwood, reaching up his hand,
'you couldn't have come at a better time, for my mind is full, and I
want to empty it. First, of my present, before I touch upon my future.
M. R. F., who is a much younger cavalier than I, and a professed admirer
of beauty, was so affable as to remark the other day (he paid us a visit
of two days up the river there, and much objected to the accommodation
of the hotel), that Lizzie ought to have her portrait painted. Which,
coming from M. R. F., may be considered equivalent to a melodramatic
blessing.'

'You are getting well,' said Mortimer, with a smile.

'Real