"Excuse me, my dear boy," he said, "I have engaged to dine with poor Jeeks at five o'clock." "With whom?" I asked, shuddering at the sound of the name. "With our neighbour, poor Jeeks," he said. "He has had a terrible dispensation, and is very much softened and improved." "What dispensation?" "Ah! I forgot: I was not to let you know. His poor son! he never recovered the accident. Two or three of Mr Shookers's teeth fastened in his head. He has been dead these five weeks: a most promising young man." I was amazingly shocked at the intelligence. "Is it for him we are in mourning?" I enquired. My father nodded. "Then he was our cousin, after all?" "There certainly seems to have been a relationship in the _Temp._ of some of the _Geos._, as he called it. At all events the acknowledgment of it does not cost much, and poor old Jeeks is delighted. Good-by. Take care of yourself." And so saying, he left me to my cogitations. When once a favourable crisis, as it is called, takes place, the amendment in the health of a man of twenty-two is very speedy. I was aided also by seeing my father in such spirits. From day to day I picked up strength, and at the end of a week I felt I could venture out. It was June again--the poet's leafy month of June--the anniversary of the very day on which I had so heroically enacted the part of the Master of Ravenswood against the pigs. I sauntered through the park; a fate was upon me; and I directed my steps, by some secret impulse against which I struggled in vain, to the Wilderness. "I may as well see the spot where I was so deluded," I thought, and recognized every object--alas! with what different feelings--as I drew near the trysting-tree. "It was there," thought, "I saw Amy for the first time, as she was flying for protection; it was there I rushed forward to save her; it was there, under the oak"----As I directed my eyes to the spot, my heart leaped as if I had seen a spirit; for there, on the identical turf, with a work-basket on her lap, sat Lucy Ashton, or rather Mrs Shookers. "So you've come at last!" she said. "Well, better late than never. Here's your seat all ready. I have expected you a long time." "Are you a woman, or a fiend in human shape?" I began. "Oh! a fiend by all means, if you like; but what has kept you all this time from Bushy Park? I am afraid your father won't give his consent; you would have come to me sooner if he had. But come, sit down and tell me all." So saying, she went on with her knitting. She was lovelier than ever. She was dressed in a black silk gown, and wore a long black mantilla over her head. I had never heard any thing so musical as her voice, nor seen any thing so beautiful as her smile. "I shall certainly not be your dupe any longer," I said; "and, believe me, the coquetry that might be captivating in Miss Elizabeth Juffles, is simply disgusting in Mrs Shookers of Singapore."