an instant's silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain
in. She did so, then said:

"You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible.
I do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the
irregular verbs."

In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her
preparations. On the morrow she was gone.

The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for
Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In
the morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with
Mrs. Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied
medicine chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker,
a couple of Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of
cartridges, a dozen of Merrin's exercise-books--on mature reflection
Mrs. Creyne thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of
African frailty for her present purpose--a packet of lead pencils, some
bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and
various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require.

Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his
own and his master's trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five
summers, had never been across the Channel--the Greynes being by no
means prone to foreign travel--and it may, therefore, be imagined that
he was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers,
coats, and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots
as seemed likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those
shirts which are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the
heated body into the case reserved for them.

When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche,
loaded almost to the gunwale--if one may be permitted a nautical
expression in this connection--had to be disburdened, and its contents
conveyed upstairs to Mr. Greyne's bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne
herself presently entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor
was it till the hour of sunset that everything was in due order, the
straps set fast, the keys duly turned in the locks--the labels--"Mr.
Eustace Greyne: Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles"--carefully written
out in a full, round hand. Rook's tickets had been bought; so now
everything was ready, and the last evening in England might be spent
by Mr. Greyne in the dra