Antony stood for a few moments on the stairtop. He was dazzled, bewildered. He had never seen so large a caravan, never could have believed that the interior of a caravan could lend itself to such art-decorations and beauty. This was no ordinary gipsy wagon, but a splendid and luxurious home-upon-wheels. The curtains, the hangings, mirrors, brackets, bookcase with pigmy editions of poetry and romance, the velvet lounge, the art chairs, the soft carpets, the crimson-shaded electric bulbs and the fairy lights gleaming up through beds of choice flowers above the china-cupboard in a recess, all spoke of and breathed refinement. But no sign of a bedroom, till smiling Lotty stepped forward and touched a spring; then china-cupboard, with fairy lights and flowers and all, slowly revolved and disappeared, and, in its place, gauzy silken hangers scarce concealed the entrance to a pretty cabin bedroom, with curtained window and white-draped couch which seemed to invite repose. A cosy wee grate in a brass-protected corner, in which a cosy wee fire was burning, a small mirrored overmantel--making the room look double the size--table, looking-glass, books, pipe-rack, wine-cupboard, and a little lamp on gimbals that was swinging even now, for the wind had commenced to blow along the links, and the great caravan rocked and swayed like a ship in a seaway. There were wild-flowers in vases even here, and a blithe little rose-linnet in a golden cage; but everything was so arranged that nothing could fall, rocked and swayed she ever so much. Frank Antony was more than pleased; he was astonished and delighted. But who was, or had been, the presiding genius of all this artful beauty and elegance? Ah! there she stands demurely now, by the saloon cabin, herself so artless--a baby-woman. He drew her nearer to him to thank her. He kissed her shapely brown fingers, and he kissed her on the hair. 'Good-night, Lotty. Oh, by the way, Lotty, tell Mr Biffins--tell your father, I mean--that I am going to bed, too tired to take supper. Good-night, child.' Five minutes after, the little brass knocker rattled, and Lotty peeped in again to say, 'All right about father, sir; and Chops will call for your boots in the morning.' Frank Antony switched off the saloon light, and, retiring to his small cabin, helped himself to a glass of port and a biscuit, and then sat down by the fire to read. As he smoked his modest pipe, which soothed his nerves after his long journey of over seven hundred miles, he felt glad he had not gone in to supper.