It was a sorrowful morning at the Villa Caprini on the 22d of November. Agincourt had come to take his last farewell of his kind friends, half heart-broken that he was not permitted even to see poor Layton before he went. Quackinbose, however, was obdurate on the point, and would suffer no one to pass the sick man's door. Mr. Ogden sat in the carriage as the boy dashed hurriedly into the house to say “Good-bye.” Room after room he searched in vain. No one to be met with. What could it mean?--the drawing-room, the library, all empty! “Are they all out, Fenton?” cried he, at last. “No, my Lord, Sir William was here a moment since, Miss Leslie is in her room, and Mrs. Morris, I think, is in the garden.” To the garden he hurried off at once, and just caught sight of Mrs. Morris and Clara, as, side by side, they turned the angle of an alley. “At last!” cried he, as he came up with them. “At last I have found some one. Here have I been this half-hour in search of you all, over house and grounds. Why, what's the matter?--what makes you look so grave?” “Don't you know?--haven't you heard?” cried Mrs. Morris, with a sigh. “Heard what?” “Heard that Charles has gone off,--started for England last night, with the intention of joining the first regiment ordered for India.” “I wish to Heaven he 'd have taken me with him!” cried the boy, eagerly. “Very possibly,” said she, dryly; “but Charles was certainly to blame for leaving a home of happiness and affection in this abrupt way. I don't see how poor Sir William is ever to get over it, not to speak of leaving May Leslie. I hope, Agincourt, this is not the way you 'll treat the young lady you 're betrothed to.” “I 'll never get myself into any such scrape, depend on't. Poor Charley!” “Why not poor May?” whispered Mrs. Morris. “Well, poor May, too, if she cared for him; but I don't think she did.” “Oh, what a shame to say so! I 'm afraid you young gentlemen are brought up in great heresies nowadays, and don't put any faith in love.” Had the boy been an acute observer, he would have marked how little the careless levity of the remark coincided with the assumed sadness of her former manner; but he never noticed this. “Well,” broke in the boy, bluntly, “why not marry him, if she cared for him? I don't suppose you 'll ask me to believe that Charley would have gone away if she had n't refused him?” “What a wily serpent it is!” said Mrs. Morris, smiling; “wanting to wring confidences from me whether I will or no.” “No. I 'll be hanged if I _am_ wily,--am I, Clara?” What Clara answered was not very distinct, for her face was partly covered with her handkerchief. “There, you see Clara is rather an unhappy witness to call to character. You 'd better come to me for a reputation,” said Mrs. Morris, laughingly. “It's no matter, I'm going away now,” said he, sorrowfully. “Going away,--where?”