And so, alternately spinning yarns, singing songs, dancing, and making fun, and mingling something of heart and brain in all, these benighted creatures made themselves happy instead of peevish, and with a day of stout, vigorous, healthy pleasure, refreshed, indemnified, and warmed themselves for many a day of toil. Such were the two picnics of Inch Coombe, and these rival cliques, agreeing in nothing else, would have agreed in this: each, if allowed (but we won't allow either) to judge the other, would have pronounced the same verdict: _“Ils ne savent pas vivre ces gens-l'a.”_ CHAPTER XI. Two of our personages left Inch Coombe less happy than when they came to it. Lord Ipsden encountered Lady Barbara with Mr.----, who had joined her upon the island. He found them discoursing, as usual, about the shams of the present day, and the sincerity of Cromwell and Mahomet, and he found himself _de trop._ They made him, for the first time, regret the loss of those earnest times when, “to avoid the inconvenience of both addressing the same lady,” you could cut a rival's throat at once, and be smiled on by the fair and society. That a book-maker should blaspheme high civilization, by which alone he exists, and one of whose diseases and flying pains he is, neither surprised nor moved him; but that any human being's actions should be affected by such tempestuous twaddle was ridiculous. And that the witty Lady Barbara should be caught by this chaff was intolerable; he began to feel bitter. He had the blessings of the poor, the good opinion of the world; every living creature was prepossessed in his favor but one, and that one despised him; it was a diabolical prejudice; it was the spiteful caprice of his fate. His heart, for a moment, was in danger of deteriorating. He was miserable; the Devil suggested to him, “make others miserable too;” and he listened to the advice. There was a fine breeze, but instead of sailing on a wind, as he might have done, he made a series of tacks, and all were ill. The earnest man first; and Flucker announced the skipper's insanity to the whole town of Newhaven, for, of course, these tacks were all marine solecisms. The other discontented Picnician was Christie Johnstone. Gatty never came; and this, coupled with five or six days' previous neglect, could no longer pass unnoticed. Her gayety failed her before the afternoon was ended; and the last two hours were spent by her alone, watching the water on all sides for him. At last, long after the departure of his lordship's yacht, the Newhaven boat sailed from Inch Coombe with the wedding party. There was now a strong breeze, and the water every now and then came on board. So the men set the foresail with two reefs, and drew the mainsail over the women; and there, as they huddled together in the dark, Jean Carnie discovered that our gay story-teller's eyes were wet with tears. Jean said nothing; she embraced her; and made them flow faster.