ebbles, and sinking on the ground, he fairly wept, wept
like a baffled child.

The fact was, that Morley had really the temperament of an orator; he
had the orator's gifts in warmth of passion, rush of thought, logical
arrangement; there was in him the genius of a great preacher. He felt
it,--he knew it; and in that despair which only genius knows when some
pitiful cause obstructs its energies and strikes down its powers, making
a confidant of Solitude he wept loud and freely.

"Do not despond, sir, I undertake to cure you," said a voice behind.

George started up in confusion; a man, elderly, but fresh and vigorous,
stood beside him, in a light fustian jacket, a blue apron, and with
rushes in his hands, which he continued to plait together nimbly and
deftly as he bowed to the startled scholar.

"I was in the shade of the thicket yonder, sir; pardon me, I could not
help hearing you."

The Oxonian rubbed his eyes, and stared at the man with a vague
impression that he had seen him before;--when? where?

"You can cure me," he stuttered out; "what of?--the folly of trying to
speak in public? Thank you, I am cured."

"Nay, sir, you see before you a man who can make you a very good
speaker. Your voice is naturally fine. I repeat, I can cure a defect
which is not in the organ, but in the management!"

"You can! you--who and what are you?"

"A basketmaker, sir; I hope for your custom." "Surely this is not the
first time I have seen you?"

"True, you once kindly suffered me to borrow a resting-place on your
father's land. One good turn deserves another."

At that moment Sir Isaac peered through the brambles, and restored
to his original whiteness, and relieved from his false, horned ears,
marched gravely towards the water, sniffed at the scholar, slightly
wagged his tail, and buried himself amongst the reeds in search of a
water-rat he had therein disturbed a week before, and always expected to
find again.

The sight of the dog immediately cleared up the cloud in the scholar's
memory; but with recognition came back a keen curiosity and a sharp pang
of remorse.

"And your little girl?" he asked, looking down abashed.

"Better than she was when we last met. Providence is so kind to us."

Poor Waife! He never guessed that to the person he thus revealed himself
he owed the grief for Sophy's abduction. He divined no reason for the
scholar's flushing cheek and embarrassed manner.

"Yes, sir, we have just settled in