course, made the usual senseless outcry, and
the Captain's brother, as the only near relation,
took it on himself to attempt breaking
off the marriage in the most offensively
indelicate way. Failing in that, and hating
the poor woman like poison, he left
his brother's house, saying, among many
other savage speeches, one infamous thing
about the bride, which— which upon my
honour, Phippen, I am ashamed to repeat.
Whatever the words were, they were
unluckily carried to Mrs. Treverton's ears,
and they were of the kind that no woman—
let alone a quick-tempered woman like the
Captain's wife— ever forgives. An interview
followed between the two brothers— and it
led, as you may easily imagine, to very
unhappy results. They parted in the most
deplorable manner. The Captain declared, in
the heat of his passion, that Andrew had
never had one generous impulse in his heart
since he was born, and that he would die
without one kind feeling towards any living
soul in the world. Andrew replied, that if
he had no heart, he had a memory, and that
he should remember those farewell words as
long as he lived. So they separated. Twice
afterwards, the Captain made overtures of
reconciliation. The first time, when his
daughter Rosamond was born; the second
time, when Mrs. Treverton died. On each
occasion the elder brother wrote to say that
if the younger would retract the atrocious
words he had spoken against his sister-in-law,
every atonement should be offered to him for
the harsh language which the Captain had
used, in the hastiness of anger, when they
last met. No answer was received from
Andrew to either letter; and the estrangement
between the two brothers has continued
to the present time. You understand
now why Captain Treverton could not
privately consult Andrew's inclinations, before
he publicly announced his intention of parting
with Porthgenna Tower ?"

Although Mr. Phippen declared, in answer
to this appeal, that he understood perfectly,
and although he begged with the utmost
politeness that the vicar would go on, his
attention seemed, for the moment, to be
entirely absorbed in inspecting the legs of his
camp-stool, and in ascertaining what impression
they made on the vicarage lawn. Doctor
Chennery's own interest, however, in the
circumstances that he was relating, seemed
sufficiently strong to make up for any transient
lapse of attention on the part of his
guest. After a few vigorous puffs at his
cigar (which had been several times in imminent
danger of going out while he was speaking),
he went on with his narrative in these
words:—

"Well, the house, the estate, the mine, and
the fisheries of Porthgenna were all publicly
put up for sale, a few months after Mrs.
Treverton's death; but no offers were made for
the property which it was possible to accept.
The ruinous state of the house, the bad
cultivation of the land, legal difficulties in
connection with the mine, and quarter-day
difficulties in the collection of the rents, all
contributed to make Porthgenna what the
auctioneers would call a bad lot to dispose of.
Failing to sell the place, Captain Treverton
could not be prevailed on to change his mind,
and live there again. The death of his wife
almost broke his heart— for he was, by all
accounts, just as fond of her as she had been
of him— and the very sight of the place that
was associated with the greatest affliction of
his life became hateful to him. He removed,
with his little girl and a relative of Mrs. Treverton,
who was her governess, to our
neighbourhood, and rented a pretty little
cottage, across the church fields, near that large
house which you must have observed with the
high-walled garden, close to the London road.
The house was inhabited at that time by
Leonard Frankland's father and mother.
The new neighbours soon became intimate;
and thus it happened that the couple whom
I have been marrying this morning were
brought up together as children, and fell in
love with each other, almost before they
were out of their pinafores."

"Chennery, my dear fellow, I don't look as
if I was sitting all on one side, do I ? " cried
Mr. Phippen, suddenly breaking into the
vicar's narrative, with a look of alarm. " I
am shocked to interrupt you; but, surely,
your grass is amazingly soft in this part of
the country. One of my camp-stool legs is
getting shorter and shorter every moment.
I'm drilling a hole! I'm toppling over!
Gracious Heavens! I feel myself going I
shall be down, Chennery; upon my life, I
shall be down!"

"Stuff! " cried the vicar, pulling up, first
Mr. Phippen and then Mr. Phippen's camp-
stool, which had rooted itself in the grass, all
on one side. " Here! come on to the gravel-
walk; you can't drill holes in that. What's
the matter now?"

"Palpitations," said Mr. Phippen, dropping
his umbrella, and placing his hand over his
heart; " and bile. I see those black spots
again— those infernal, lively, black spots,
dancing before my eyes. Chennery, suppose
you consult some agricultural friend about
the quality of your grass. Take my word
for it, your lawn is softer than it ought to
be.— Lawn! " repeated Mr. Phippen to himself,
contemptuously, as he turned round to
pick up his umbrella. " It isn't a lawn— it's
a bog!"

"There, sit down," said the vicar, "and
don't pay the palpitations and the black spots
the compliment of bestowing the smallest
attention on them. Do you want anything
to drink? Shall it be physic, or beer, or
what ?"

"No, no! I am so unwilling to give
trouble," answered Mr. Phippen. "I would
rather suffer— rather, a great deal. I think