lost by wear less of the divine image? How
thoroughly it exemplifies your great law of Protestant art, that
"the Ideal is best manifested in the Peculiar." How classic, how
independent of clime or race, is its bland, majestic self-
possession! how thoroughly Norse its massive squareness!'

'And yet, as a Cornishman, he should be no Norseman.'

'I beg your pardon! Like all noble races, the Cornish owe their
nobleness to the impurity of their blood--to its perpetual loans
from foreign veins. See how the serpentine curve of his nose, his
long nostril, and protruding, sharp-cut lips, mark his share of
Phoenician or Jewish blood! how Norse, again, that dome-shaped
forehead! how Celtic those dark curls, that restless gray eye, with
its "swinden blicken," like Von Troneg Hagen's in the Niebelungen
Lied!'

He turned: Honoria was devouring his words. He saw it, for he was
in love, and young love makes man's senses as keen as woman's.

'Look! look at him now!' said Claude, in a low voice. 'How he sits,
with his hands on his knees, the enormous size of his limbs quite
concealed by the careless grace, with his Egyptian face, like some
dumb granite Memnon!'

'Only waiting,' said Lancelot, 'for the day-star to arise on him and
awake him into voice.'

He looked at Honoria as he spoke. She blushed angrily; and yet a
sort of sympathy arose from that moment between Lancelot and
herself.

Our hero feared he had gone too far, and tried to turn the subject
off.

The smooth mill-head was alive with rising trout.

'What a huge fish leapt then!' said Lancelot carelessly; 'and close
to the bridge, too!'

Honoria looked round, and uttered a piercing scream.

'Oh, my dog! my dog! Mops is in the river! That horrid gazelle has
butted him in, and he'll be drowned!'

Alas! it was too true. There, a yard above the one open hatchway,
through which the whole force of the stream was rushing, was the
unhappy Mops, alias Scratch, alias Dirty Dick, alias Jack Sheppard,
paddling, and sneezing, and winking, his little bald muzzle turned
piteously upward to the sky.

'He will be drowned!' quoth the colonel.

There was no doubt of it; and so Mops thought, as, shivering and
whining, he plied every leg, while the glassy current dragged him
back and back, and Honoria sobbed like a child.

The colonel lay down on the bridge, and caught at him: his arm was
a foot too short. In a moment the huge form of Tre