But poor Elsley may have had solid reasons for thinking more of the name of Thurnall than of his children's health: we will hope so for his sake; for, after sundry melodramatic pacings and starts (Elsley was of a melodramatic turn, and fond of a scene, even when he had no spectator, not even a looking-glass;) besides ejaculations of "It cannot be!" "If it were!" "I trust not!" "A fresh ghost to torment me!" "When will come the end of this accursed coil which I have wound round my life?" and so forth, he decided aloud that the suspense was intolerable; and enclosing himself in his poetical cloak and Mazzini wide-awake, strode down to the town, and into the shop. And as he entered it, "his heart sank to his midriff, and his knees below were loosed." For there, making up pills, in a pair of brown holland sleeves of his own manufacture (for Tom was a good seamster, as all travellers should be), whistled Lilliburlero, as of old, the Tom of other days, which Elsley's muse would fain have buried in a thousand Lethes. Elsley came forward to the counter carelessly, nevertheless, after a moment. "What with my beard, and the lapse of time," thought he, "he cannot know me." So he spoke,-- "I understand you have been visiting my children, sir. I hope you did not find them seriously indisposed?" "Mr. Vavasour?" says Tom, with a low bow. "I am Mr. Vavasour!" But Elsley was a bad actor, and hesitated and coloured so much as he spoke, that if Tom had known nothing, he might have guessed something. "Nothing serious, I assure you, sir: unless you are come to announce any fresh symptom." "Oh, no--not at all--that is--I was passing on my way to the quay, and thought it as well to have your own assurance; Mrs. Vavasour is so over-anxious." "You seem to partake of her infirmity, sir," says Tom, with a smile and a bow. "However, it is one which does you both honour." An awkward pause. "I hope I am not taking a liberty, sir; but I think I am bound to--" "What in heaven is he going to say?" thought Elsley to himself, feeling very much inclined to run away. "Thank you for all the pleasure and instruction which your writings have given me in lonely hours, and lonely places too. Your first volume of poems has been read by one man, at least, beside wild watchfires in the Rocky Mountains." Tom did not say that he pitched the said volume into the river in disgust; and that it was, probably, long since used up as house material by the caddis-baits of those parts,--for doubtless there are caddises there as elsewhere. Poor Elsley rose at the bait, and smiled and bowed in silence. "I have been so long absent from England, and in utterly wild countries, too, that I need hardly be ashamed to ask if you have written anything since 'The Soul's Agonies'? No doubt if you have, I might have found it at Melbourne, on my way home: but my visit there was a very hurried one. However, the loss is mine, and the fault too, as I ought to call it."