the trenches by organising another pic-nic, somewhere lower down the river, to which he would invite all the party of to-day, and such other additions from London as he considered worthy of the honour. Miss Hallaton, of course. Nice girl, Miss Hallaton, and civil to _him_! Distant, but that was manner. Ah! she would make a charming wife to a fellow who admired that kind of beauty. It was not _his_ style, of course; and with this reflection, the image of a lovely laughing face, and a pair of kind blue eyes, seemed to brighten even the gloom of his dismal railway carriage. Thinking of Mrs. Lascelles somehow called Sir Henry unpleasantly to mind. And he bethought him how that easy-going personage had expressed certain vague intentions of starting on an expedition of his own, to see some yearlings, leaving his daughter at The Lilies. "Then I'll write to Miss Hallaton herself," thought Goldthred. "Why shouldn't I? That will prevent the possibility of a mistake, and perhaps Mrs. Lascelles won't quite like it. I wonder if she would care. I _couldn't_ make her unhappy, the angel, to save my life, but I wish I was sure I had the power." By the time he reached Paddington, Goldthred's spirits had risen considerably, as is usually the case with a man who has resolved to take his own part; and, after extricating an overblown rose from his button-hole, and planting it carefully in the neck of his water-bottle, he went to bed, feeling keenly that the time was fast approaching to decide his fate, and that the next week, or say, perhaps, ten days, must settle his business and make him "a man or a mouse."