and Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of the rustic tables,

finished a cigar with great deliberation under the foliage of the

chestnut. Francis, peering through a clear space among the leaves,

was able to follow his gestures as he threw away the ash or enjoyed

a copious inhalation; and beheld a cloud upon the old man's brow

and a forcible action of the lips, which testified to some deep and

probably painful train of thought. The cigar was already almost at

an end, when the voice of a young girl was heard suddenly crying