'And I am going--I only knew last night--really going away.' He paused; but the young lady did not feel called upon to say anything, and only allowed him to go on. In fact, she was piqued, and did not choose to show the least concern about his movements. 'And I've a great mind now that I'm departing this little world,' and he glanced, it seemed to her, regretfully towards the village, 'to put you down, Miss Lily, if you will allow it, in my codicil for a legacy----' She laughed a pleasant little careless laugh. How ill-natured! but, oh! wasn't it musical. 'Then I suppose, if you were not to see me for some time, or maybe for ever, the village folks won't break their hearts after Dick Devereux?' And the gipsy captain smiled, and his eyes threw a soft violet shadow down upon her; and there was that in his tone which for a moment touched her with a strange reproach, like a bar of sweet music. But little Lily was spirited; and if _he_, so early a friend, could go away without bidding good-bye, why he should not suppose _she_ cared. 'Break our hearts? Not at all, perhaps; but of course I--the parson's daughter--I should, and old Moore, the barber, and Pat Moran, the hackney coachman, and Mrs. Irons your fat landlady, you've been so very good to all of us, you know.' 'Well,' he interrupted, 'I've left my white surtout to Moran: a hat, let me see, and a pair of buckles to Moore; and my glass and china to dear Mrs. Irons.' 'Hat--buckles--surtout--glass--china--gone! Then it seems to me your earthly possessions are pretty nearly disposed of, and your worldly cares at an end.' 'Yes; very nearly, but not quite,' he laughed. 'I have one treasure left--my poor monkey; he's a wonderful fellow--he has travelled half over the world, and is a perfect fine gentleman--and my true comrade until now. Do you think Dr. Walsingham, of his charity, would give the poor fellow free quarters at the Elms?' She was going to make answer with a jest, satirically; but her mood changed quickly. It was, she thought, saucy of Captain Devereux to fancy that she should care to have his pet; and she answered a little gravely-- 'I can't say indeed; had you cared to see him, you might have asked him; but, indeed, Captain Devereux, I believe you're jesting.' 'Faith! Madam, I believe I am; or, it does not much matter--dreaming perhaps. There's our bugle!' And the sweet sounds quivered and soared through the pleasant air. 'How far away it sounds already; ours are sweet bugles--the sweetest bugles to my ear in the wide world. Yes, dreaming. I said I had but one treasure left,' he continued, with a fierce sort of tenderness that was peculiar to him: 'and I did not mean to tell you, but I will. Look at that, Miss Lily, 'tis the little rose you left on your harpsichord this morning. I stole it: 'tis mine; and Richard Devereux would die rather than lose it to another.' So then, after all, he had been at the Elms; and she had wronged him.