thrope as the man who despises himself." And with this
he hastened to his room and locked the door. It was while carelessly
and recklessly he scattered the harsh words by which he grieved her
most that he now and then struck some chord that vibrated with a pang of
almost anguish within him, uttering aloud some speech which from another
he would have resented with a blow. Still, as the criminal is oftentimes
driven to confess the guilt whose secret burden is too heavy for
his heart, preferring even the execration of mankind to the terrible
isolation of secrecy, so did he feel a sort of melancholy satisfaction
in discovering how humbly and meanly he appeared before himself.

"A poor man's pack is soon made, Grace," said he, with a sad smile,
as he entered the room, where she was busily engaged in the little
preparations for his journey.

"Tom, don't go! don't go! don't!" screamed out the parrot, wildly.

"Only listen to the creature," said he; "he 's at his warnings again. I
wish he would condescend to be more explanatory and less oracular."

She only smiled, without replying.

"Not but he was right once, Grace," said Lay ton, gravely. "You remember
how he counselled me against that visit to the Rectory."

"Don't! don't!" croaked out the bird, in a low, guttural voice.

"You are too dictatorial, doctor, even for a vice-provost. I will go."

"All wrong! all wrong!" croaked the parrot.

"By Jove! he has half shaken my resolution," said Lay-ton, as he sat
down and drew his hand across his brow. "I wish any one would explain
to me why it is that he who has all his life resented advice as insult,
should be the slave of his belief in omens." This was uttered in a
half-soliloquy, and he went on: "I can go back to at least a dozen
events wherein I have had to rue or to rejoice in this faith."

"I too would say, Don't go, Herbert," said she, languidly.

"How foolish all this is!" said be, rising; "don't you know the old
Spanish proverb, Grace, 'Good luck often sends us a message, but very
rarely calls at the door herself?' meaning that we must not ask Fortune
to aid us without our contributing some effort of our own. I will go,
Grace. Yes, I will go. No more auguries, doctor," said he, throwing a
handkerchief playfully over the bird and then withdrawing it,--a measure
that never failed to enforce silence. "This time, at least," said he, "I
mean to be my own oracle."

CHAPTER XII. A FELLOW-TRAVELLER ON THE COACH