“Keep yourself to yourself, sir!” said she, very tartly, for chambermaids never like to be kissed by a middle-aged gentleman when a younger one is by: whereupon the German replied by a pinch,--it is immaterial to state the exact spot to which that delicate caress was directed. But this last offence was so inexpiable, that the “Madchen” bounced off with a face of scarlet, and a “Sir, you are no gentleman--that’s what you arn’t!” The German thrust his head out of the arbour, and followed her with a loud laugh; then drawing himself in again, he said in quite another accent, and in excellent English, “There, Master Philip, we have got rid of the girl for the rest of the morning, and that’s exactly what I wanted to do--women’s wits are confoundedly sharp. Well, did I not tell you right, we have baffled all the bloodhounds!” “And here, then, Gawtrey, we are to part,” said Philip, mournfully. “I wish you would think better of it, my boy,” returned Mr. Gawtrey, breaking an egg; “how can you shift for yourself--no kith nor kin, not even that important machine for giving advice called a friend--no, not a friend, when I am gone? I foresee how it must end. [D--- it, salt butter, by Jove!]” “If I were alone in the world, as I have told you again and again, perhaps I might pin my fate to yours. But my brother!” “There it is, always wrong when we act from our feelings. My whole life, which some day or other I will tell you, proves that. Your brother--bah! is he not very well off with his own uncle and aunt?--plenty to eat and drink, I dare say. Come, man, you must be as hungry as a hawk--a slice of the beef? Let well alone, and shift for yourself. What good can you do your brother?” “I don’t know, but I must see him; I have sworn it.” “Well, go and see him, and then strike across the country to me. I will wait a day for you,--there now!” “But tell me first,” said Philip, very earnestly, and fixing his dark eyes on his companion,--“tell me--yes, I must speak frankly--tell me, you who would link my fortunes with your own,--tell me, what and who are you?” Gawtrey looked up. “What do you suppose?” said he, dryly. “I fear to suppose anything, lest I wrong you; but the strange place to which you took me the evening on which you saved me from pursuit, the persons I met there--” “Well-dressed, and very civil to you?” “True! but with a certain wild looseness in their talk that--But I have no right to judge others by mere appearance. Nor is it this that has made me anxious, and, if you will, suspicious.” “What then?” “Your dress--your disguise.”