glances exchanged between his daughter and Elben, who lurked in the vicinity. Presently Alexis, who had been overwhelmed by the greetings of old acquaintances and playmates, returned to his uncle's party. He started at sight of the Englishman. "How now!" he exclaimed; "you here, my good sir? By what chance?" The stranger evidently shared the young man's surprise at their meeting. Hastily quitting his seat, he took Alexis by the arm, and led him out of the throng. At a short distance off, but out of all earshot, Wirtig saw them walking up and down, the Englishman talking and gesticulating with great earnestness, Alexis listening with smiling attention. The host of the Bear sat in deep thought, his eyes riveted upon the Englishman. "Caleb," he suddenly demanded of the old waiter, who was moistening his larynx with a mug of cider--"Caleb, how came yon gentleman to our hostelry?" "On horseback, Master Wirtig," replied Caleb, mustering up his reminiscences of the _Tales of my Landlord_, "on a gallant bay gelding. His honour wore spatterdashes, such as they wear to hunt the fox, I believe, in his country. His cane hung from his button; and if it so please ye, Master Wirtig, I will describe his horse furniture as well as my poor old memory will permit." "Enough!" said Wirtig, impatiently. "Whence comes the traveller, and whither is he bound?" Caleb shrugged his shoulders. "Has he written his name in the strangers' book?" "He has so, Master Wirtig, after long entreaty; for at first he steadfastly refused. At last he wrote it. 'Let none see this,' he said, 'save your master; and let _him_ be discreet, or--'" "Glorious!" interrupted Wirtig, and, in the joy of his heart, was near embracing his astonished servant. "I had a presentiment of it, but say--his name?" Caleb looked embarrassed. "You alone were to see it, Master Wirtig, and I--you know I am not very good at reading writing. I looked into the book, but--" "How looked the word, fellow?" "To me it looked a good deal like a blot." "Now, by St Bennet of Seyton! thou art the dullest knave that ever wore green apron! How many letters?" Caleb scratched his head. "Hard to say exactly; but not more than five, I would wager that." "FIVE! Varlet, thou rejoicest me. Heavens! that such good fortune should be mine! Run, man, run as you never ran before! Bid Jenny kill, roast and boil! A great supper! Scottish cookery! The oak-table shall groan with its load of sack, ale, and whisky. Let Quentin put the horses to, and fetch us with the carriage. Rob Roy must go round to all the best houses, and invite the neighbours. Tell Rowena to leave the goats, and help Jenny in the kitchen. By my halidome! I had almost forgotten. Old Edith must sweep out the ballroom, and Front-de-Boeuf put wax-lights in the chandeliers. Go! run! fly!"