her without fear. Be patient—wait the course of time. You will not be a soldier or a sailor, Henry; but, if you live, you will be—listen to my prophecy—you will be an author—perhaps, a poet."
"An author! It is a flash—a flash of light to me! I will—I will! I'll write a book that I may dedicate it to you."
"You will write it, that you may give your soul its natural release. Bless me! what am I saying? more than I understand, I believe, or can make good. Here, Hal; here is your toasted oat-cake—eat and live!"
"Willingly!" Here cried a voice outside the open window, "I know that fragrance of meal bread. Miss Keeldar, may I come in and partake?"
"Mr. Hall" (it was Mr. Hall, and with him was Louis Moore, returned from their walk), "there is a proper luncheon laid out in the dining-room, and there are proper people seated round it: you may join that society and share that fare if you please; but if your ill-regulated tastes lead you to prefer ill-regulated proceedings, step in here, and do as we do."
"I approve the perfume, and therefore shall suffer myself to be led by the nose," returned Mr. Hall, who presently entered, accompanied by Louis Moore. That gentleman's eye fell on his desk, pillaged.
"Burglars!" said he. "Henry, you merit the ferule."
