Mr Tippet's eyes flashed with indignation, and he drove the chisel deep down into the bench, as if to give point and force to his sentiment, as well as an illustration of the dreadful idea with which he concluded. Willie admitted that there was much truth in Mr Tippet's observations, but did not quite agree with him in his sweeping condemnation of Ziza. "However," continued Mr Tippet, resuming his quiet tone and benignant aspect, "I'll consider the matter. Yes, I'll consider the matter and see what's to be done for 'em." He leaped from the bench with a quiet chuckle as he said this and began to saw vigorously, while Willie went to his desk in the corner and applied himself to an abstruse calculation, considerably relieved in mind, for he had unbounded belief in the fertility of Mr Tippet's imagination, and he knew well that whatever that old gentleman promised he would certainly fulfil. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE BEST-LAID PLANS. There were other men besides Mr Tippet who could be true to their promises when it suited them. D. Gorman was true to his, in so far as they concerned David Boone. He visited that unfortunate invalid so frequently, and brought him so many little "nice things" for the alleviation of his sufferings, and exhibited altogether such nervous anxiety about his recovery, that worthy Mrs Craw was quite overwhelmed, and said, in the fulness of her heart, that she never did see a kinder friend, or one who more flatly gave the lie-direct to his looks, which, she was bound to admit, were not prepossessing. But, despite his friend's solicitude, and his doctor's prescriptions, and his nurse's kindness, David Boone continued steadily to sink, until at last the doctor gave it as his opinion that he would not recover. One afternoon, soon after the expression of this opinion, Gorman called on his friend, and was shown as usual into his chamber. It was a wet, cold, stormy afternoon, and the window rattled violently in its frame. Boone was much better that afternoon. It seemed as if he had just waited for the doctor to pronounce his unfavourable opinion in order to have the satisfaction of contradicting it. "He's better to-day, sir," said Mrs Craw, in a whisper. "Better!" exclaimed Gorman with a look of surprise, "I'm glad to hear that--very glad." He looked as if he were very sorry, but then, as Mrs Craw said, his looks belied him. "He's asleep now, sir; the doctor said if he slept he was on no account to be waked up, so I'll leave you to sit by him, sir, till he wakes, and, please, be as quiet as you can." Mrs Craw left the room on tip-toe, and Gorman went to the bedside and looked on the sick man's wasted features with a frown. "Ha! you're asleep, are you, and not to be waked up--eh? Come, I'll rouse you." He shook him violently by the shoulder, and Boone awoke with a start and a groan. "Hope I didn't disturb you, Boone," said his friend in a quiet voice. "I came to inquire for you."