So much relieved was Lance that he recollected that he had laid in no stock of presents for those at home, and went up to profit by the second day’s reductions, when he secured Geraldine’s portrait of Davy Blake for his wife, and a statuette of St. Cecilia for Dr. May, some charming water-colours for Robina and Ethel, besides various lesser delights for the small fry, his own and the flock at Vale Leston, besides a cushion for Alda’s sofa. John Inglesant had been bought by a connoisseur by special commission. He heard at every stall triumphant accounts of the grand outlay of the Travis Underwoods and Rotherwoods, and just the contrary of Mrs. Pettifer, whom he encountered going about in search of bargains, and heard haggling for a handsome table-cover, because it was quite aesthetic, and would not do except in a large house, so of course it had not sold. The Mouse-traps had been a great success, and there were very few left of them. They really owed as much to Lance as did the play, for he had not only printed them at as small a cost as possible, but had edited, pruned, and got them into shape more than any of the young lady authors suspected. The interpretation of handwriting had likewise succeeded in obtaining many clients, and a large pile of silver coins. Anna, who was hovering near, was delighted to show him that her sister Sophy’s writing had been declared to indicate homely tastes, an affectionate disposition, great perspicuity of perception, much force of character; and Franceska’s, scarcely yet formed, showed that she was affectionate, romantic, and, of all things in the world, fond of horses and of boating. Emilia’s was held as a great blunder, for she was said to have an eye devoted to temporal advantages, also volatile, yet of great determination, triumphing over every obstacle, and in much danger of self-deception. “The triumph at least is true,” said Anna, “now she has her way about the nursing.” “Has she? I did not know it.” “Yes, she is to try it for a year, while Cousins Fernan and Marilda go out to their farm in the Rocky Mountains.” Just then there was a little commotion, and a report came up that a boat had been run down and some one drowned. Somebody said, “One of those acting last night--a buccaneer.” Somebody else, “A naval man.” Then it was “The Buccaneer Captain,” and Mrs. Pettifer was exclaiming, “Poor Captain Armytage! He was in our theatricals, I remember, but they thought him rather high. But he was a fine young man! Poor Captain Armytage!” Lance had sufficient interests in those at sea to be anxious, and turned his steps to the gates to ascertain the facts, when he was overtaken by Gillian, with a hat hastily thrown over her snooded hair and Highland garb, hurrying along, and looking very white. “Mr. Underwood! Oh! did you hear who it was?” “No certainty. I was going down to find out. You,” as he saw her purpose, “had better not come. There will be a great crowd. I will come back and tell you.”