It was a pleasure to Mr. M’Kinlay to leave diplomacy, and get back again into those pleasant pasturages where duties are “recited,” and obligations laid down, with all the rules of action stated, and with the rigid cautions impressed, due stress being stamped at every step on separate responsibility, and reiterated warning given, how “each acted for himself, and not one for the other,” till Luttrell’s less practised brain actually whirled with the repetitions and reiterations; nor was he more comforted by learning that on certain difficulties, not at all improbable, arising, he would have to recur to the law courts for guidance--a gloomy prospect which all Mr. M’Kinlay’s fluent readiness could not dispel, as he said, “A mere matter of form, I assure you, and only requiring a short bill in Equity, and a hearing before the Master.” “There, there, that will do,” cried he, at last; “don’t terrify me any more. A surgeon never made his operation less painful by describing every step of it beforehand to the patient; but, Sir, I accede; and now forgive me if I leave you for one moment; I have a word to say to your fellow-traveller, whom I see out yonder.” The American was seated on a rock, smoking, and Harry beside him, when Luttrell drew nigh. “Come here, Harry,” cried he to the boy; “I want to speak to you.” “Oh, papa,” said the boy, as he came up, “if you only heard all the pleasant stories he has! There’s nowhere he hasn’t been. In countries where the trees are covered with fruit, and monkeys and peacocks all over them; in lands where there are mines of gold, and silver, and diamonds, all for the taking; in seas, too, where you look down and see great reefs that look like rocks, but are really precious stones. And now he was telling me of a beautiful island, far, far away, so rich in flowers and spices, that you can know for more than a hundred miles off when you are coming to it.” “Has he asked you to go away with him, Harry?” “No, papa.” “But you would like to do so? Speak out, boy; tell me frankly. Do you wish it?” “Would he take me, papa?” asked he, timidly. “Yes.” “And would you let me?” and he spoke with even a fainter voice, and greater anxiety in his look. “First answer me my question, Harry. Do you wish to go?” “Yes, papa, greatly.” Luttrell turned away his head and drew his hand across his eyes, and for several minutes did not look round again. When he did, it was to see the boy standing calm, firm, and erect before him. Not a trace of emotion on his features, as his eyes confronted his own. “I suppose you are right,” said Luttrell, half speaking to himself. “I suppose you are right. It is very dreary here!” “And there are no wild beasts to hunt, nor red men to fight, nor beautiful birds to catch, papa; nor any gold----”