must sing her one of his songs, his dear songs, and teach
it to her. And when he had sung an Irish melody in his rich quavering
voice, fancying it was he who was fascinating the little siren, she put
her little question about Arthur Pendennis and his novel, and having
got an answer, cared for nothing more, but left the Captain at the piano
about to sing her another song, and the dinner-tray on the passage, and
the shirts on the chair, and ran downstairs quickening her pace as she
sped.

Captain Costigan, as he said, was not a litherary cyarkter, nor had he
as yet found time to peruse his young friend's ellygant perfaurumance,
though he intended to teak an early opporchunitee of purchasing a cawpee
of his work. But he knew the name of Pen's novel from the fact that
Messrs. Finucane, Bludyer, and other frequenters of the Back Kitchen,
spoke of Mr. Pendennis (and not all of them with great friendship; for
Bludyer called him a confounded coxcomb, and Hoolan wondered that Doolan
did not kick him etc.) by the sobriquet of Walter Lorraine,--and was
hence enabled to give Fanny the information which she required.

"And she went and ast for it at the libery," Mrs. Bolton said, "--several
liberies--and some ad it and it was bout, and some adn't it. And one of
the liberies as ad it wouldn't let er ave it without a sovering: and she
adn't one, and she came back a-cryin to me--didn't you, Fanny?--and I
gave her a sovering."

"And, oh, I was in such a fright lest any one should have come to the
libery and took it while I was away," Fanny said, her cheeks and eyes
glowing. "And, oh, I do like it so!"

Arthur was touched by this artless sympathy, immensely flattered and
moved by it. "Do you like it?" he said. "If you will come up to my
chambers I will--No, I will bring you one--no, I will send you one.
Good night. Thank you, Fanny. God bless you. I mustn't stay with you.
Good-bye, good-bye." And, pressing her hand once, and nodding to her
mother and the other children, he strode out of the gardens.

He quickened his pace as he went from them, and ran out of the gate
talking to himself. "Dear, dear little thing," he said,--"darling little
Fanny! You are worth them all. I wish to heaven Shandon was back. I'd go
home to my mother. I mustn't see her. I won't. I won't, so help me----"

As he was talking thus, and running, the passers-by turning to look at
him, he ran against a little old man, and perceived it was Mr. Bows.

"Your ver