"'For benchus heights ov brass aich wee wos firrmlee buildid, From the front dure till the back, an' a nate blue corrinis filled it; An' there was gowldin dures, that tastee dome securin', An' silver posts loikewise that slid the breezin' dure in; An' lovely gowldin dogs the intherrance wee stud fast in, Thim same, H. Phaestus meed, which had a turrun for castin'. Widout that speecious hall there grew a gyardin, be Jakers! A fince purticts that seeme of fower (I think it is) acres.'" I have but an indistinct recollection of the rest of the evening. If I was not sound asleep, I must have been in a semi-doze, retaining just sufficient consciousness to preserve the air of an absorbed listener. I had nothing but an innumerable multitude of visions, which assumed alternately the shape of Nora and of Marion. When at length I rose to go, O'Halloran begged me to stay longer. But, on looking at my watch, I found it was half-past three, and so suggested in a general way that perhaps I'd better be in bed. Whereupon he informed me that he would not be at home on the following evening, but wouldn't I come the evening after. I told him I'd be very happy. But suddenly I recollected an engagement. "Well, will you be at leisure on the next evening?" said he. I told him I would be, and so I left, with the intention of returning on the third evening from that time. I got home and went to bed; and in my dreams I renewed the events of that evening. Not the latter part of it, but the former part. There, before me, floated the forms of Nora and of Marion, the one all smiles, the other all gloom--the one all jest and laughter, the other silent and sombre--the one casting at me the glowing light of her soft, innocent, laughing eyes; the other flinging at me from her dark, lustrous orbs glances that pierced my soul. I'm an impressible man, I own it. I can't help it. I was so made. I'm awfully susceptible. And so, 'pon my honor, for the life of me I couldn't tell which I admired most of these two fascinating, bewildering, lovely, bewitching, yet totally different beings. "Oh, Nora!" I cried--and immediately after, "Oh, Marion!" CHAPTER XXI. JACK ONCE MORE.--THE WOES OF A LOVER.--NOT WISELY BUT TOO MANY.--WHILE JACK IS TELLING HIS LITTLE STORY, THE ONES WHOM HE THUS ENTERTAINS HAVE A SEPARATE MEETING.--THE BURSTING OF THE STORM.--THE LETTER OF "NUMBER THREE."--THE WIDOW AND MISS PHILLIPS.--JACK HAS TO AVAIL HIMSELF OF THE AID OF A CHAPLAIN Of HER MAJESTY'S FORCES.--JACK AN INJURED MAN.