“I could have told him that I came of a long-lived race on either side; that during my life I had scarcely known an illness, that I had borne the worst climates without injury, and such-like,--but I forbore; I had too much deference for his station and his acquirements to set my judgment against them, and I arose to take my leave. It is just possible, though I cannot say I felt it, that his announcement might have affected me; at all events, the disappointment did so, and I was terrified about the difficulties in which I saw myself involved. I became suddenly sick, and I asked for a glass of water; before it came I had fainted, a thing that never in my whole life had befallen me. When, I rallied, he led me to talk of my usual habits and pursuits, and gradually brought me to the subject which had led me-to his house. 'What!' said he, 'ask for any security beyond the property itself! It is absurd; Waring is always-doing these things. Let me advance this money. I know a great deal more about you, Sir Brook, than you think; my friend Dr. Lendrick has spoken much of you, and of all your kindness to his son; and though you may not have heard of my name,--Beattie,--I am very familiar with yours.' “In a word, Tom, he advanced the money. It is now in that writing-desk; and I have--I feel it--a friend the-more in the world. As I left his door, I could not help saying to myself, What signify a few days more or less of life, so long as such generous traits as this follow one to the last? He made me a happier man by his noble trust in me than if he had declared me a miracle of strength and vigor. Who is that looking in at the window, Tom? It's the second time I have seen a face there.” Tom started to his feet and hurried to the door. There was, however, no one there; and the little lane was silent and deserted. He stopped a few minutes to listen, but not a footfall could be heard, and he returned to the room believing it must have been a mere illusion. “Let us light candles, Tom, and have out our maps. I want to see whether Marseilles will not be our best and cheapest route to the island.” They were soon poring eagerly over the opened map, Sir Brook carefully studying all the available modes of travel; while Tom, be it owned, let his eyes wander from land to land, till following out the Danube to the Black Sea, he crossed over and stretched away into the mountain gorges of Circassia, where Schamyl and his brave followers were then fighting for liberty. For maps, like the lands they picture, never offer to two minds kindred thoughts; each follows out in space the hopes and ambitions that his heart is charged with; and where one reads wars and battle-fields, another but sees pastoral pleasures and a tranquil existence,--home and home-happiness. “Yes, Tom; here I have it. These coasting-craft, whose sailing-lines are marked here, will take us and our traps to Cagliari for a mere trifle,--here is the route.”