POOR Tom Sedley! The little excitement of parting with the bull-necked keeper of his “garden of beauty”, over, his spirits sank. He could not act the unconscious tourist again, and recommit the premeditated mistake of the morning. His exclusion was complete.

Tom Sedley paid a visit that day at Hazelden, and was depressed, and dull, and absent to such a degree, that Miss Charity Etherage, after he had gone away, canvassed the matter very earnestly, and wondered whether he was quite well, and hoped he had not had bad news from London.

I don’t know how Tom got over all that day; but at about four o’clock, having paid his penny at the toll-gate of the pier of Cardyllian, he was pacing up and down that breezy platform, and discussing with himself the possibility of remaining for another Sunday, on the chance of again seeing the Malory ladies in church. Lifting up his eyes, in his meditation, he saw a cutter less than a mile away, making swiftly for the pierhead, stooping to the breeze as she flew, and beating up the spray in sparkling clouds from her bows. His practised eye recognised at a glance the Wave, the victorious yacht of Cleve Verney. With this breeze it was a run without a tack from Ware jetty.

In less than five minutes she furled her sails, and dropped anchor close to the pier stair, and Cleve Verney in another minute stepped upon it from his punt.

“You’re to come back in her, to Ware, this evening,” said he, as they shook hands. “I’m so glad I’ve found you. I’ve to meet a friend at the Verney Arms, but our talk won’t take very long; and how have you been amusing yourself all day? Rather slow, isn’t it?”

Tom Sedley told his story.

“Well, and what’s the name?” inquired Cleve.

“I can’t tell; they don’t know at the hotel; the Etherages don’t know. I asked Castle Edwards, and he doesn’t know either,” said Sedley.

“Yes, but the fellow, the servant, who turned you out at Malory ——”

“He did not turn me out. I was going,” interrupted Tom Sedley.

“Well, who saw you out? You made him a present; he’d have told you, of course. Did he?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

“Come, that’s being very delicate indeed! All I can say is, if I were as spoony as you are, on that girl, I’d have learned all about her long ago. It’s nothing to me; but if you find out her name, I know two or three fellows in town who know everything about everybody, and I’ll make out the whole story — that is, if she’s anybody.”

“By Jove! that’s very odd. There he is, just gone into the Golden Lion, that groom, that servant, that Malory man,” exclaimed Tom Sedley very eagerly, and staring hard at the open door of the quaint little pot-house.

“Well, go; give him a pound, it’s well worth it,” laughed Cleve. “I’m serious, if you want to learn it; no fellow like that can resist a pound; and if you tell me the name, I’ll make you out all the rest, I really will, when we get to town. There, don’t let him get off, and you’ll find me at the Verney Arms.”

So saying, Cleve nodding his irresolute friend toward the Golden Lion, walked swiftly away to meet the Reverend Isaac Dixie. But Dixie was not at the Chancery; only a letter, to say that “most unhappily” that morning, Clay Rectory was to undergo an inspection by a Commissioner of Dilapidations; but that, D.V., he would place himself next day, at the appointed hour, at his honoured pupil’s disposal.

“Those shovel-hatted martinets! they never allow a minute for common sense, or anything useful — always pottering over their clerical drill and pipe-clay,” said Cleve, who, when an idea once entered his mind, pursued it with a terrible concentration, and hated an hour’s delay.

So out he came disappointed, and joined Sedley near the Golden Lion.

They said little for a time, but walked on, side by side, and found themselves sauntering along the road toward Malory together.

“Well, Sedley, I forgot — what about the man? Did he tell you anything?”

“I do believe if a fellow once allows a girl to get into his head, ever so little, he’s in a sort of way drunk — worse than drunk — systematically foolish,” said honest Sedley, philosophizing. “I’ve been doing nothing but idiotic things ever since church time yesterday.”

“Well, but what did he say?”

“He took the pound, and devil a thing he said. He wouldn’t tell anything about them. I give you leave to laugh at me. I know I’m the greatest ass on earth, and I think he’s the ugliest brute I ever saw, and the most uncivil; and, by Jove, if I stay here much longer, I think he’ll get all my money from me. He doesn’t ask for it, but I go on giving it to him; I can’t help it; the beast!”

“Isn’t there a saying about a sage, or something and his money being soon parted?” asked Cleve. “I think if I were so much gone about a girl as you are, and on such easy terms with that fellow, and tipped him so handsomely, I’d have learned her name, at least, before now.”

“I can’t; everything goes wrong with me. Why should I risk my reason, and fall in love with the moon? The girl wouldn’t look at me; by Jove, she’ll never even see me; and it’s much better so, for nothing can possibly come of it, but pain to me, and fun to every one else. The late train does not stop at our station. I can’t go to-night; but, by Jove, I’ll be off in the morning. I will. Don’t you think I’m right, Cleve?”

Tom Sedley stopped short, and faced his friend — who was, in most matters, his oracle — earnestly laying his hand upon his arm. Cleve laughed at his vehemence, for he knew Tom’s impulsive nature, his generous follies, and terrible impetuosity, and, said he —“Right, Tom; always a philosopher! Nothing like the radical cure, in such a case, absence. If the cards won’t answer, try the dice, if they won’t do, try the ba............