"I with--I wish--damme, I wish I was back at home with my legs under my own table, and--and--and a good glass of port before me. Hang that Robbins, a confounded scoundrel; I--I--I know I shall finish by breaking his head. Four days before I left England I asked him to put one single bottle of the '20 port in my dressing-room with the cork drawn, and he threw her ladyship at my head, and, damme, I didn't get a drop. And my own port--a whole bin of it--my own port--my own port. Hah! how comfortable a chair is when you're tired. He was a good fellow who first invented chairs." He shuffled himself down, and lay right back. "Shall I never find my little girl?" he sighed. "What shall I do?" murmured Maude. "Why isn't he here?" "I'm not fit to come hunting organ men all over the continent," continued the old gentleman; "but Tom insisted, you see. Oh, my poor leg! It's worse here than it was in town." He rubbed his leg slowly, and Maude made a movement as if to go to his side, but something seemed to hold her back. "Tom is sure to be near," she thought, "and they must not meet yet. Tom would not forgive him. If I could only get away and warn him." "Why don't Tom come and order something to eat? I'm starving. Oh, dear: London to Paris--Paris to Baden--Baden to Nice--Nice to Genoa, and now on here to Naples. Poor Tom, he seems to grow more furious the more we don't find them. Oh, hang the girl!" he added aloud. Maude started, and had hard work to suppress a sob. "They'll separate us; they'll drag me away," she sighed. "No, no, no, I will not say that," cried Lord Barmouth, aloud. "I am hungry, and it makes me cross. My poor leg! I should like to find my poor darling," he said, piteously. "Bless her! bless her! she was a good girl to me." "Oh! oh! oh!" sobbed Maude, hysterically, for she could contain herself no longer. "Eh! eh! eh!" ejaculated Lord Barmouth. "What the deuce! A lady in distress. Doosed fine woman too," he added, raising his glass as he tottered to his feet. "I was a devil of a fellow among the ladies when I was a youngster. Can I, madam--suppose she don't understand English-- can I, madam, be of any service? What, Maudey, my darling? Is it you at last?" "Oh, papa! papa!" There was a burst of sobbing and embracing, ended by the old man seating himself in Maude's chair, and the girl sinking at his feet. "And--and--and I've--I've found you at last then, my dear, or have you found me? Is--is it really you?" "Yes, yes, yes, my own dear darling father," sobbed Maude. "Yes, it is--it is," he cried, fondling her and drawing her to his breast, till he seemed to recollect something. "But, damme--damme--damme--" "Oh, don't--don't swear at me, papa darling!" "But--but I must, my dear. Here have I been searching all over Europe for you, and now I have found you." "Kiss me, papa dear," sobbed Maude.