oy. Where have you been,
and why have you not written? I have a great mind to scold you,
sir; but on second thoughts, I think I had better leave the task of
correcting you to your parents, who, perhaps, have more influence
with you than I have. You don't know, dear, how anxious we have all
been about you. Poor Mr. Mole has started in search of you. Have
you seen him yet?--and if you don't write soon, I shall feel
obliged to try and find out what has become of you, for I almost
begin to fear that some fair Turkish or Circassian girl_----"

"The deuce!" Jack thought; "she can't have heard any thing of that
affair yet. If Mole has written, the letter could not have reached
England on the 20th of last month."

Then he continued--

"----_has stolen your heart, and Harry Girdwood's too. Why, poor
Paquita always has red eyes when she gets up. So, darling Jack, do
write at once, and cheer our hearts. I can't help writing like
this, for I feel so fearful that something has happened to you. So
be a dear, good boy, and send a full account of all your doings to
your father, and just a few lines to

"Your ever faithful and affectionate._

"EMILY.

"_P.S.--I was just reading this over to see if I had been too
cross, when your father came in with a photographer, who took my
portrait without my knowing anything about it. Do you think it like
me, sir?_"

Then followed three or four of those blots which ladies call "kisses."

CHAPTER LXXXI.

MR. MOLE AGAIN OUT OF LUCK.

Herbert Murray, attended by Chivey, was strolling down the principal
street of the town, smoking his cigar, thinking how he could yet serve
out young Jack, when he suddenly saw, on in front, the figure of an
elderly man, who appeared to walk with difficulty.

He made such uncertain steps and singular movements, as he hobbled
along by the aid of a stick, that the effect, however painful to him,
was ludicrous to the onlookers.

"Why, blest if it ain't old Mole, the man who came to bid young
Harkaway and his friends good-bye when we sailed," cried Chivey.

"Or his ghost," said Murray.

"I'll have a lark with him, sir," said the tiger, laying his finger
aside his nose, and winking knowingly. "You see!"

And walking nimbly and on tiptoe behind the old man, he soon caught up
to him without his knowing it.

Murray halted at a little distance, ready to behold and enjoy the