“Take a glass of sherry,” said I; “try if that may not assist to recall your faculties.”
“No, no,” cried he; “I have taken a bottle of it already, and, by Jove, I rather think my head is only the more addled. Do you know that I am in a most confounded scrape. I have run away with that young lady; we were at an evening-party last night together, and came straight away from the supper-table to the train.”
“Indeed!” said I, laying down my knife and fork, not a little gratified that I was at length to learn the secret that had so long teased me. “And so you have run away with her!”
“Yes; it was no sudden thought, however, – at least, it was an old attachment; I have known her these two months.”
“Oh! oh!” said I; “then there was prudence in the affair.”
“Perhaps you will say so,” said he, quickly, “when I tell you she has £30,000 in the Funds, and something like £1700 a year besides, – not that I care a straw for the money, but, in the eye of the world, that kind of thing has its éclat.”
“So it has,” said I, “and a very pretty éclat it is, and one that, somehow or another, preserves its attractions much longer than most surprises; but I do not see the scrape, after all.”
“I am coming to that,” said he, glancing timidly around the room. “The affair occurred this wise: we were at an evening-party, – a kind of déjeûné, it was, on the Thames, – Charlotte came with her aunt, – a shrewish old damsel, that has no love for me; in fact, she very soon saw my game, and resolved to thwart it. Well, of course I was obliged to be most circumspect, and did not venture to approach her, not even to ask her to dance, the whole evening. As it grew late, however, I either became more courageous or less cautious, and I did ask her for a waltz. The old lady bristled up at once, and asked for her shawl. Charlotte accepted my invitation, and said she would certainly not retire so early; and I, to cut the matter short, led her to the top of the room. We waltzed together, and then had a ‘gallop,’ and after that some champagne, and then another waltz; for Charlotte was resolved to give the old lady a lesson, – she has spirit for anything! Well, it was growing late by this time, and we went in search of the aunt at last; but, by Jove! she was not to be found. We hunted everywhere for her, looked well in every corner of the supper-room, where it was most likely we should discover her; and at length, to our mutual horror and dismay, we learned that she had ordered the carriage up a full hour before, and gone off, declaring that she would send Charlotte’s father to fetch her home, as she herself possessed no influence over her. Here was a pretty business, – the old gentleman being, as Charlotte often told me, the most choleric man in England. He had killed two brother officers in duels, and narrowly escaped being hanged at Maidstone for shooting a waiter who delayed bringing him the water to shave, – a pleasant old boy to encounter on such an occasion at this!
“‘He will certainly shoot me, – he will shoot you, – he will kill us both!’ were the only words she could utter; and my blood actually froze at the prospect before us. You may smile if you like; but let me tell you that an outraged father, with a pair of patent revolving pistols, is no laughing matter. There was nothing for it, then, but to ‘bolt.’ She saw that as soon as I did; and although she endeavored to persuade me to suffer her to return home alone, that, you know, I never could think of; and so, after some little demurrings, some tears, and some resistance, we got to the Euston-Square station, just as the train was going. You may easily think that neither of us had much time for preparation. As for myself, I have come away with a ten-pound note in my purse, – not a shilling more have I in my possession; and here we are now, half of that sum spent already, and how we are to get on to the North, I cannot for the life of me conceive.”
“Oh! that’s it,” said I, peering at him shrewdly from under my eyelids.
“Yes, that ‘s it; don’t you think it is bad enough?” and he spoke the words with a reckless frankness that satisfied all my scruples. “I ought to tell you,” said he, “that my name is Blunden; I am lieutenant in the Buffs, on leave; and now that you know my secret, will you lend me twenty pounds? which perhaps, may be enough to carry us forward, – at least, it will do, until it will be safe for me to write for money.”
“But what would bring you to the North?” said I; “why not put yourselves on board the mail-packet this evening, and come to Dublin? We will marry you there just as cheaply; pursuit of you will be just as difficult; and I ‘d venture to say, you might choose a worse land for the honeymoon.”
“But I have no money,” said he; “you forgot that.”
“For the matter of money,” said I, “make your mind easy. If the young lady is going away with her own consent, – if, indeed, she is as anxious to get married as you are, – make me the banker, and I ‘ll give her away, be the bridesmaid, or anything else you please.”
“You are a trump,” said he, helping himself to another glass of my sherry; and then filling out a third, which emptied the bottle, he slapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Here ‘s your health; now come upstairs.”
“Stop a moment,” said I, “I must see her alone, – there must be no tampering with the evidence.”
He hesitated for a second, and surveyed me from head to foot; and whether it was the number of my double chins or the rotundity of my waistcoat divested his mind of any jealous scruples, but he smiled coolly, and said, “So you shall, old buck, – we will never quarrel about that.”
Upstairs we went accordingly, and into a handsome drawing-room on the first floor, at one end of which, with her head buried in her hands, the young lady was sitting.
“Charlotte,” said he, “this gentleman is kind enough to take an interest in our fortunes, but he desires a few words with you alone.”
I waved my hand to him to prevent his making any further explanation, and as a signal to withdraw; he took the hint and left the room.
Now, thought I, this is the second act of the drama; what the deuce am I to do here? In the first place, some might deem it my duty to admonish the young damsel on the impropriety of the step, to draw an afflicting picture of her family, to make her weep bitter tears, and end by persuading her to take a first-class ticket in the up-train. This would be the grand parento-moral line; and I shame to confess it, it was never my forte. Secondly, I might pursue the inquiry suggested by myself, and ascertain her real sentiments. This might be called the amico-auxiliary line. Or, lastly, I might try a little, what might be done on my own score, and not see £30,000 and £1700 a year squandered by a cigar-smoking lieutenant in the Buffs. As there may be different opinions about this line, I shall not give it a name. Suffice it to say, that, notwithstanding a sly peep at as pretty a throat and as well rounded an instep as ever tempted a “government Mercury,” I was true to my trust, and opened the negotiation on the honest footing.
“Do you love him, my little darling?” said I; for somehow consolation always struck me as own-brother to love-making. It is like indorsing a bill for a friend, which, though he tells you he ‘ll meet, you always feel responsible for the money.
She turned upon me an arch look. By St. Patrick, I half regretted I had not tried number three, as in the sweetest imaginable voice she said, —
“Do you doubt it?”
“I wish I could,” thought I to myself. No matter, it was too late for regrets; and so I ascertained, in a very few minutes, that she corroborated every portion of the statement, and was as deeply interested in the success of the adventure as himself.
“That will do,” said I. “He is a lucky fellow, – I always heard the Buffs were;” and with that I descended to the coffee-room, where the young man awaited me with the greatest anxiety.
“Are you satisfied?” cried he, as I entered the room.
“Perfectly,” was my answer. “And now let us lose no more time; it wants but a quarter to seven, and we must be on board in ten minutes.”
As I have already remarked, my fellow-travellers were not burdened with luggage, so there was little difficulty in expediting their departure; and in half an hour from that time we were gliding down the Mersey, and gazing on the spangled lamps which glittered over that great city of soap, sugar, and sassafras, train-oil, timber, and tallow. The young lady soon went below, as the night was chilly; but Blunden and myself walked the deck until near twelve o’clock, chatting over whatever came uppermost, and giving me an opportunity to perceive that, without possessing any remarkable ability or cleverness, he was one of those offhand, candid, clear-headed young fellows, who, when trained in the admirable discipline of the mess, become the excellent specimens of well-conducted, well-mannered gentlemen our army abounds with.
We arrived in due course in Dublin. I took my friends up to Morrison’s, drove with them after breakfast to a fashionable milliner’s, where the young lady, with an admirable taste, selected such articles of dress as she cared for, and I then saw them duly married. I do not mean to say that the ceremony was performed by a bishop, or that a royal duke gave her away; neither can I state that the train of carriages comprised the equipages of the leading nobility. I only vouch for the fact that a little man, with a black eye and a sinister countenance, read a ceremony of his own composing, and made them write their names in a great book, and pay thirty shillings for his services; after which I put a fifty-pound note into Blunden’s hand, saluted the bride, and, wishing them every health and happiness, took my leave.
They started at once with four posters for the North, intending to cross over to Scotland. My engagements induced me to leave town for Cork, and in less than a fortnight I found at my club a letter from Blunden, enclosing the fifty pounds, with a thousand thanks for my prompt kindness, and innumerable affectionate reminiscences from Madame. They were as happy as – confound it, every one is happy for a week or a fortnight; so I crushed the letter, pitched it into the fire, was rather pleased with myself for what I had done, and thought no more of the whole transaction.
Here then my tale should have an end, and the moral is obvious. Indeed, I am not certain but some may prefer it to that which the succeeding portion conveys, thinking that the codicil revokes the body of the testament. However that may be, here goes for it.
It was about a year after this adventure that I made one of a party of six travelling up to London by the “Grand Junction.” The company were chatty, pleasant folk, and the conversation, as often happens among utter strangers, became anecdotic; many good stories were told in turn, and many pleasant comments made on them, when at length it occurred to me to mention the somewhat singular rencontre I have already narrated as having happened to myself.
“Strange enough,” said I, “the last time I journeyed along this line, nearly this time last year, a very remarkable occurrence took place. I happened to fall in with a young officer of the Buffs, eloping with an exceedingly pretty girl; she had a large fortune, and was in every respect a great ‘catch;’ he ran away with her from an evening party, and never remembered, until he arrived at Liverpool, that he had no money for the journey. In this dilemma, the young fellow, rather spooney about the whole thing, I think would have gone quietly back by the next train, but, by Jove, I could n’t satisfy my conscience that so lovely a girl should be treated in such a manner. I rallied his courage; took him over to Ireland in the packet, and got them married the next morning.”
“Have I caught you at last, you old, meddling scoundrel!” cried a voice, hoarse and discordant with passion, from the opposite side; and at the same instant a short, thickset old man, with shoulders like a Hercules, sprung at me. With one hand he clutched me by the throat, and with the other he pummelled my head against the panel of the conveyance, and with such violence that many people in the next carriage averred that they thought we had run into the down train. So sudden was the old wretch’s attack, and so infuriate withal, it took the united force of the other passengers to detach him from my neck; and even then, as they drew him off, he kicked at me like a demon. Never has it been my lot to witness such an outbreak of wrath; and, indeed, were I to judge from the symptoms it occasioned, the old fellow had better not repeat it, or assuredly apoplexy would follow.
“That villain, – that old ruffian,” said he, glaring at me with flashing eyeballs, while he menaced me with his closed fist, – “that cursed, meddling scoundrel is the cause of the greatest calamity of my life.”
“Are you her father, then?” articulated I, faintly, for a misgiving came over me that my boasted benevolence might prove a mistake. “Are you her father?” The words were not out, when he dashed at me once more, and were it not for the watchfulness of the others, inevitably had finished me.
“I’ve heard of you, my old buck,” said I, affecting a degree of ease and security my heart sadly belied. “I ‘ve heard of your dreadful temper already, – I know you can’t control yourself. I know all about the waiter at Maidstone. By Jove, they did not wrong you; and I am not surprised at your poor daughter leaving you – ” But he would not suffer me to conclude; and once more his wrath boiled over, and all the efforts of the others were barely sufficient to calm him into a semblance of reason.
There would be an end to my narrative if I endeavored to convey to my reader the scene which followed, or recount the various outbreaks of passion which ever and anon interrupted the old man, and induced him to diverge into sundry little by-ways of lamentation over his misfortune, and curses upon my meddling interference. Indeed his whole narrative was conducted more in the staccato style of an Italian opera father than in the homely wrath of an English parent; the wind-up of these dissertations being always to the one purpose, as with a look of scowling passion directed towards me, he said, “Only wait till we reach the station, and see if I won’t do for you.”
His tale, in few words, amounted to this. He was the Squire Blunden, – the father of the lieutenant in the “Buffs.” The youth had formed an attachment to a lady whom he had accidentally met in a Margate steamer. The circumstances of her family and fortune were communicated to him in confidence by herself; and although she expressed her conviction of the utter impossibility of obtaining her father’s consent to an untitled match, she as resolutely refused to elope with him. The result, however, was as we have seen; she did elope, – was married, – they made a wedding tour in the Highlands, and returned to Blunden Hall two months after, where the old gentleman welcomed them with affection and forgiveness. About a fortnight after their return, it was deemed necessary to make inquiry as to the circumstances of her estate and funded property, when the young lady fell upon her knees, wept bitterly, said she had not a sixpence, – that the whole thing was a “ruse;” that she had paid five pounds for a choleric father, three ten for an aunt warranted to wear “satin;” in fact, that she had been twice married before, and had heavy misgivings that the husbands were still living.
There was nothing left for it but compromise. “I gave her,” said he, “five hundred pounds to go to the devil, and I registered, the same day, a solemn oath that if ever I met this same Tramp, he should carry the impress of my knuckles on his face to the day of his death.”
The train reached Harrow as the old gentleman spoke. I waited until it was again in motion, and, flinging wide the door, I sprang out, and from that day to this have strictly avoided forming acquaintance with a white lace bonnet, even at a distance, or ever befriending a lieutenant in the Buffs.
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE
I got into the Dover “down train” at the station, and after seeking for a place in two or three of the leading carriages, at last succeeded in obtaining one where there were only two other passengers. These were a lady and a gentleman, – the former, a young, pleasing-looking girl, dressed in quiet mourning; the latter was a tall, gaunt, bilious-looking man, with grisly gray hair, and an extravagantly aquiline nose. I guessed, from the positions they occupied in the carriage, that they were not acquaintances, and my conjecture proved subsequently true. The young lady was pale, like one in delicate health, and seemed very weary and tired, for she was fast asleep as I entered the carriage, and did not awake, notwithstanding all the riot and disturbance incident to the station. I took my place directly in front of my fellow-travellers; and whether from mere accident, or from the passing interest a pretty face inspires, cast my eyes towards the lady; the gaunt man opposite fixed on me a look of inexpressible shrewdness, and with a very solemn shake of his head, whispered in a low undertone, —
“No! no! not a bit of it; she ain’t asleep, – they never do sleep, – never!”
“Oh!” thought I to myself, “there’s another class of people not remarkable for over-drowsiness; “for, to say truth, the expression of the speaker’s face and the oddity of his words made me suspect that he was not a miracle of sanity. The reflection had scarcely passed through my mind, when he arose softly from his seat, and assumed a place beside me.
“You thought she was fast,” said he, as he laid his hand familiarly on my arm; “I know you did, – I saw it the moment you came into the carriage.”
“Why, I did think – ”
“Ah! that’s deceived many a one. Lord bless you, sir, they are not understood, no one knows them; “and at these words he heaved a profound sigh, and dropped his head upon his bosom, as though the sentiment had overwhelmed him with affliction.
“Riddles, sir,” said he to me, with a glare of his eyes that really looked formidable, – “sphinxes; that’s what they are. Are you married?” whispered he.
“No, sir,” said I, politely; for as I began to entertain more serious doubts of my companion’s intellect, I resolved to treat him with every civility.
“I don’t believe it matters a fig,” said he; “the Pope of Rome knows as much about them as Bluebeard.”
“Indeed,” said I, “are these your sentiments?”
“They are,” replied he, in a still lower whisper; “and if we were to talk modern Greek this moment, I would not say but she” – and here he made a gesture towards the young lady opposite – “but she would know every word of it. It is not supernatural, sir, because the law is universal; but it is a most – what shall I say, sir? – a most extraordinary provision of nature, – wonderful! most wonderful!”
“In Heaven’s name, why did they let him out?” exclaimed I to myself.
“Now she is pretending to awake,” said he, as he nudged me with his elbow; “watch her, see how well she will do it.” Then turning to the lady, he added in a louder voice, —
“You have had a refreshing sleep, I trust, ma’am?”
“A very heavy one,” answered she, “for I was greatly fatigued.”
“Did not I tell you so?” whispered he again in my ear. “Oh!” and here he gave a deep groan, “when they ‘re in delicate health, and they ‘re greatly fatigued, there’s no being up to them!”
The remainder of our journey was not long in getting over; but brief as it was, I could not help feeling annoyed at the pertinacity with which the bilious gentleman purposely misunderstood every word the young lady spoke. The most plain, matter-of-fact observations from her were received by him as though she was a monster of duplicity; and a casual mistake as to the name of a station he pounced upon, as though it were a wilful and intentional untruth. This conduct, on his part, was made ten times worse to me by his continued nudgings of the elbow, sly winks, and muttered sentences of “You hear that” – “There’s more of it” – “You would not credit it now,” etc.; until at length he succeeded in silencing the poor girl, who, in all likelihood, set us both down for the two greatest savages in England.
On arriving at Dover, although I was the bearer of despatches requiring the utmost haste, a dreadful hurricane from the eastward, accompanied by a tremendous swell, prevented any packet venturing out to sea. The commander of “The Hornet,” however, told me, should the weather, as was not improbable, moderate towards daybreak, he would do his best to run me over to Calais; “only be ready,” said he, “at a moment’s notice, for I will get the steam up, and be off in a jiffy, whenever the tide begins to ebb.” In compliance with this injunction, I determined not to go to bed, and, ordering my supper in a private room, I prepared myself to pass the intervening time as well as might be.
“Mr. Yellowley’s compliments,” said the waiter, as I broke the crust of a veal-pie, and obtained a bird’s-eye view of that delicious interior, where hard eggs and jelly, mushrooms, and kidney, were blended together in a delicious harmony of coloring. “Mr. Yellowley’s compliments, sir, and will take it as a great favor if he might join you at supper.”
“Have not the pleasure of knowing him,” said I, shortly, – “bring me a pint of sherry, – don’t know Mr. Yellowley.”
“Yes, but you do, though,” said the gaunt man of the railroad, as he entered the room, with four cloaks on one arm, and two umbrellas under the other.
“Oh! it’s you,” said I, half rising from my chair; for in spite of my annoyance at the intrusion, a certain degree of fear of my companion overpowered me.
“Yes,” said he, solemnly. “Can you untie this cap? The string has got into a black-knot, I fear; “and so he bent down his huge face while I endeavored to relieve him of his head-piece, wondering within myself whether they had shaved him at the asylum.
“Ah, that’s comfortable!” said he at last; and he drew his chair to the table, and helped himself to a considerable portion of the pie, which he covered profusely with red pepper.
Little conversation passed during the meal. My companion ate voraciously, filling up every little pause that occurred by a groan or a sigh, whose vehemence and depth were strangely in contrast with his enjoyment of the good cheer. When the supper was over, and the waiter had placed fresh glasses, and with that gentle significance of his craft had deposited the decanter, in which a spoonful of sherry remained, directly in front of me, Mr. Yellowley looked at me for a moment, threw up his eyebrows, and with an air of more bonhomie than I thought he could muster, said, —
“You will have no objection, I hope, to a little warm brandy and water.”
“None whatever; and the less, if I may add a cigar.”
“Agreed,” said he.
These ingredients of our comfort being produced, and the waiter having left the room, Mr. Yellowley stirred the fire into a cheerful blaze, and, nodding amicably towards me, said, —
“Your health, sir; I should like to have added your name.”
“Tramp, – Tilbury Tramp,” said I, “at your service.” I would have added Q. C, as the couriers took that lately; but it leads to mistakes, so I said nothing about it.
“Mr. Tramp,” said my companion, while he placed one hand in his waistcoat, in that attitude so favored by John Kemble and Napoleon. “You are a young man?”
“Forty-two,” said I, “if I live till June.”
“You might be a hundred and forty-two, sir.”
“Lord bless you!” said I, “I don’t look so old.”
“I repeat it,” said he, “you might be a hundred and forty-two, and not know a whit more about them.”
“Here we are,” thought I, “back on the monomania.”
“You may smile,” said he, “it was an ungenerous insinuation. Nothing was farther from my thoughts; but it’s true, – they require the study of a lifetime. Talk of Law or Physic or Divinity; it’s child’s play, sir. Now, you thought that young girl was asleep.”
“Why, she certainly looked so.”
“Looked so,” said he, with a sneer; “what do I look like? Do I look like a man of sense or intelligence?”
“I protest,” said I, cautiously, “I won’t suffer myself to be led away by appearances; I would not wish to be unjust to you.”
“Well, sir, that artful young woman’s deception of you has preyed upon me ever since; I was going on to Walmer to-night, but I could n’t leave this without seeing you once more, and giving you a caution.”
“Dear me. I thought nothing about it. You took the matter too much to heart.”
“Too much to heart,” said he, with a bitter sneer; “that’s the cant that deceives half the world. If men, sir, instead of undervaluing these small and apparently trivial circumstances, would but recall their experiences, chronicle their facts, as Bacon recommended so wisely, we should possess some safe data to go upon, in our estimate of that deceitful sex.”
“I fear,” said I, half timidly, “you have been ill-treated by the ladies?”
A deep groan was the only response.
“Come, come, bear up,” said I; “you are young, and a fine-looking man still” (he was sixty, if he was an hour, and had a face like the figure-head of a war-steamer).
“I will tell you a story, Mr. Tramp,” said he, solemnly, – “a story to which, probably, no historian, from Polybius to Hoffman, has ever recorded a parallel. I am not aware, sir, that any man has sounded the oceanic depths of that perfidious gulf, – a woman’s heart; but I, sir, I have at least added some facts to the narrow stock of our knowledge regarding it. Listen to this:” —
I replenished my tumbler of brandy and water, looked at my watch, and, finding I still had two hours to spare, lent a not unwilling ear to my companion’s story.
“For the purpose of my tale,” said Mr. Yellowley, “it is unnecessary that I should mention any incident of my life more remote than a couple of years back. About that time it was, that, using all the influence of very powerful friends, I succeeded in obtaining the consul-generalship at Stralsund. My arrangements for departure were made with considerable despatch; but on the very week of my leaving England, an old friend of mine was appointed to a situation of considerable trust in the East, whither he was ordered to repair, I may say, at a moment’s notice. Never was there such a contretemps. He longed for the North of Europe, – I, with equal ardor, wished for a tropical climate; and here were we both going in the very direction antagonist to our wishes! My friend’s appointment was a much more lucrative one than mine; but so anxious was he for a residence more congenial to his taste, that he would have exchanged without a moment’s hesitation.
“By a mere accident, I mentioned this circumstance to the friend who had procured my promotion. Well, with the greatest alacrity, he volunteered his services to effect the exchange; and with such energy did he fulfil his pledge, that on the following evening I received an express, informing me of my altered destination, but directing me to proceed to Southampton on the next day, and sail by the Oriental steamer. This was speedy work, sir; but as my preparations for a journey had long been made, I had very little to do, but exchange some bear-skins with my friend for cotton shirts and jackets, and we both were accommodated. Never were two men in higher spirits, – he, with his young wife, delighted at escaping what he called banishment; I equally happy in my anticipation of the glorious East.
“Among the many papers forwarded to me from the Foreign Office was a special order for free transit the whole way to Calcutta. This document set forth the urgent necessity there existed to pay me every possible attention en route; in fact, it was a sort of Downing-Street firman, ordering all whom it might concern to take care of Simon Yellowley, nor permit him to suffer any let, impediment, or inconvenience on the road. But a strange thing, Mr. Tramp, – a very strange thing, – was in this paper. In the exchange of my friend’s appointment for my own, the clerk had merely inserted my name in lieu of his in all the papers; and then, sir, what should I discover but that this free transit extended to ‘Mr. Yellowley and lady,’ while, doubtless, my poor friend was obliged to travel en garçon? This extraordinary blunder I only discovered when leaving London in the train.
“We were a party of three, sir.” Here he groaned deeply. “Three, – just as it might be this very day. I occupied the place that you did this morning, while opposite to me were a lady and a gentleman. The gentleman was an old round-faced little man, chatty and merry after his fashion. The lady – the lady, sir – if I had never seen her but that day, I should now call her an angel. Yes, Mr. Tramp, I flatter myself that few men understand female beauty better. I admire the cold regularity and impassive loveliness of the North, I glory in the voluptuous magnificence of Italian beauty; I can relish the sparkling coquetry of France, the plaintive quietness and sleepy tenderness of Germany; nor do I undervalue the brown pellucid skin and flashing eye of the Malabar; but she, sir, she was something higher than all these; and it so chanced that I had ample time to observe her, for when I entered the carriage she was asleep – asleep,” said he, with a bitter mockery Macready might have envied. “Why do I say asleep? No, sir! – she was in that factitious trance, that wiliest device of Satan’s own creation, a woman’s sleep, – the thing invented, sir, merely to throw the shadow of dark lashes on a marble cheek, and leave beauty to sink into man’s heart without molestation. Sleep, sir! – the whole mischief the world does in its waking moments is nothing to the doings of such slumber! If she did not sleep, how could that braid of dark-brown hair fall loosely down upon her blue-veined hand; if she did not sleep, how could the color tinge with such evanescent loveliness the cheek it scarcely colored; if she did not sleep, how could her lips smile with the sweetness of some passing thought, thus half recorded? No, sir; she had been obliged to have sat bolt upright, with her gloves on and her veil down. She neither could have shown the delicious roundness of her throat nor the statue-like perfection of her instep. But sleep, – sleep is responsible for nothing. Oh, why did not Macbeth murder it, as he said he had!