“Norange idea!”

    “But , e you think so?”

    “it have managed well.”

    “But not h you?”

    “You did not act ter of a gipsy h me.”

    “ cer did I act? My own?”

    “No; some unaccountable one. In s, I believe you rying to dra—or in; you alking nonsense to make me talk nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir.”

    “Do you forgive me, Jane?”

    “I cannot tell till I  it all over. If, on reflection, I find I o no great absurdity, I sry to forgive you; but it  right.”

    “O—very careful, very sensible.”

    I reflected, and t, on t ; but, indeed, I  from tervieed. I kneune-tellers did not express ted y to conceal ures. But my mind  living enigma, t mystery of mysteries, as I considered  of Mr. Rocer.

    “ell,” said  are you musing about?  does t grave smile signify?”

    “onder and self-congratulation, sir. I o retire now, I suppose?”

    “No; stay a moment; and tell me he drawing-room yonder are doing.”

    “Discussing the gipsy, I daresay.”

    “Sit do me  t me.”

    “I ter not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o’clock. Oer, t a stranger  this morning?”

    “A stranger!—no; ed no one; is he gone?”

    “No;  ake ty of installing ill you returned.”

    “the devil he did! Did he give his name?”

    “ Indies; from Spanisohink.”

    Mr. Rocer anding near me; aken my o lead me to a c a convulsive grip; tly a spasm caugh.

    “Mason!—t Indies!” one one migomaton to enounce its single  Indies!” erated; and  o