He thought he could remember a time when he would thoroughly have liked all this,--when he could have taken leave of the busy world without one regret, and made the great race of life a mere “walk over;” but now that he had tasted the poisonous fascination of that combat, where man is pitted against man, and where even the lust of gain is less stimulating than a deadly sense of jealous rivalry, it was too late--too late! How strange, too, did it seem to him, as he looked back upon his wild and stormy life, with all its perils and all its vicissitudes, to think that an existence so calm, so uneventful, and so safe, could yet be had,--that a region existed where craft could find no exercise, where subtlety might be in disuse! It was to him like a haven that he was rejoiced to know,--a harbor whose refuge, some one day or other, he would search out; but there was yet one voyage to make,--one grand venture,--which, if successful, would be the crowning fortune of his life! The sharp crack, crack of a postilion's whip started him from his musings, and, looking up, he saw a post-carriage approaching at full speed. He waved his hat as the carriage came near for the men to draw up, and the next moment Lizzy Davis was in her father's arms. He kissed her twice, and then, holding her back, gazed with proud delight at her beautiful features, never more striking than in that moment of joyful meeting. “How well you are looking, Lizzy!” said he, with a thick utterance. “And you too, dear papa,” said she, caressingly. “This quiet rural life seems to have agreed wonderfully with you. I declare you look five years younger for it, does he not, Mr. Beecher?” “Ah, Beecher, how are you?” cried Davis, warmly shaking the other's hand. “This _is_ jolly, to be all together again,” said he, as, drawing his daughter's arm within his own, and taking Beecher on the other side, he told the postilions to move forward, while they would find their way on foot. “How did you ever hit upon this spot?” asked Beecher; “we could n't find it on the map.” “I came through here some four-and-twenty years ago, and I never forget a place nor a countenance. I thought at the time it might suit me, some one day or other, to remember, and you see I was right. You are grown fatter, Lizzy; at least I fancy so. But come, tell me about your life at Aix,--was it pleasant? was the place gay?” “It was charming, papa!” cried she, in ecstasy; “had you only been with us, I could not have come away. Such delightful rides and drives, beautiful environs, and then the Cursaal of an evening, with all its odd people,--not that my guardian, here, fancied so much my laughing at them.” “Well, you did n't place much restraint upon yourself, I must say.” “I was reserved even to prudery; I was the caricature of Anglo-Saxon propriety,” said she, with affected austerity. “And what did they think of you, eh?” asked Davis trying to subdue the pride that would, in spite of him, twinkle in his eye.