XLIII. IN AMONG THE BIG-WIGS.
CHAPTER XLIV. HOW TO TAKE BAD TIDINGS.
CHAPTER XLV. INNOCENCE IN NO SENSE.
CHAPTER XLVI. HARD RIDING AND HARD READING.
CHAPTER XLVII. TRY TO THINK THE BEST OF ME.
CHAPTER XLVIII. SOMETHING WORTH KISSING.
CHAPTER XLIX. A DANGEROUS COMMISSION.
CHAPTER L. STERLING AND STRIKING AFFECTION.
CHAPTER LII. BE NO MORE OFFICER OF MINE.
CHAPTER LIII. FAREWELL, ALL YOU SPANISH LADIES.
CHAPTER LIV. GOING UP THE TREE.
CHAPTER LVI. GOING DOWN THE HILL.
CHAPTER LVII. THE PLEDGE OF A LIFE.
CHAPTER LVIII. A HERO’S RETURN.
CHAPTER LIX. THE GRAVE OF THE ASTROLOGER.
CHAPTER LXI. A SAMPLE FROM KENT.
CHAPTER LXII. A FAMILY ARRANGEMENT.
CHAPTER LXIII. BETTER THAN THE DOCTORS.
CHAPTER LXIV. IMPENDING DARKNESS.
CHAPTER LXV. A FINE CHRISTMAS SERMON.
CHAPTER LXVI. COMING DOWN IN EARNEST.
CHAPTER LXVII. THE LAST CHANCE LOST.
CHAPTER LXVIII. THE DEATH-BOURNE.
CHAPTER LXIX. BOTTLER BEATS THE ELEMENTS.
CHAPTER LXX. OH, HARO! HARO! HARO!
CHAPTER LXXI. AN ARGUMENT REFUTED.
CHAPTER LXXII. ON LETHE’S WHARF.
CHAPTER LXXIV. FROM HADES’ GATES.
CHAPTER LXXV. SOMETHING LIKE A LEGACY.
CHAPTER LXXVI. SCIENTIFIC SOLUTION.
CHAPTER LXXVII. HER HEART IS HIS.
CHAPTER LXXVIII. THE LAST WORD COMES FROM BONNY.
ALICE LORRAINE.
CHAPTER I.
ALL IN THE DOWNS.
Westward of that old town Steyning, and near Washington and Wiston, the lover of an English landscape may find much to dwell upon. The best way to enjoy it is to follow the path along the meadows, underneath the inland rampart of the Sussex hills. Here is pasture rich enough for the daintiest sheep to dream upon; tones of varied green in stripes (by order of the farmer), trees as for a portrait grouped, with the folding hills behind, and light and shadow making love in play to one another. Also, in the breaks of meadow and the footpath bendings, stiles where love is made in earnest, at the proper time of year, with the dark-browed hills imposing everlasting constancy.
Any man here, however sore he may be from the road of life, after sitting awhile and gazing, finds the good will of his younger days revive with a wider capacity. Though he hold no commune with the heights so far above him, neither with the trees that stand in quiet audience soothingly, nor even with the flowers still as bright as in his childhood, yet to himself he must say something—better said in silence. Into
