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He doesn't, however, always inflame the thrilling bosoms of youth: he'll sometimes let people alone for forty or fifty years. This may be held to be an extraordinary fact, but it is a fact, nevertheless—a fact which must not be denied, nor, for more than a moment, even doubted, seeing that Aunt Eleanor and her reverend friend supplied at this period a case in point.

Aunt Eleanor was upwards of forty years of age, and the reverend gentleman was upwards of fifty, while neither had, up to this time, really loved. The germs of love were in the hearts of both, but they had never struck root. And in speaking of love, it must be understood as love, not certainly contradistinguished, but distinguished from affection; for while Aunt Eleanor was one of the most affectionate creatures that ever breathed, the affections of the reverend gentleman were strong. It will hence be seen that love does not necessarily co-exist with affection: in other words, that affection may exist without love; for certain is it that the reverend gentleman never inspired the passion of love until he received Sylvester's letter, and that Aunt Eleanor never really felt that she loved, until her reverend friend spoke of those feelings which had in his bosom lain dormant so long. Then, indeed, the flame burst forth to amaze them with the consciousness of their having been formed to love each other; and that consciousness, coupled with the amazement thereon consequent, kept them awake—on the morning that followed the eventful day of which the preceding chapter treats—until half-past two o'clock.

At half-past two—it was a singular coincidence—they both fell asleep, and they hadn't been asleep more than fifteen minutes, when Tom heard his bells.

"Hollo: very good!" said he, getting out of bed. "Stop a bidite, add I'll give you pepper!" And, grasping a stick, a blow from which would have made the head of any man ache for a month, he went up stealthily into the study.

"Who's there?" he demanded, in tones of indignation. "Do you hear?"

All was silent.

"I've got you, have I?" he continued. "Very good. Wait a bidite: let's strike a light, add have a look at you. Dow thed!" he added, having lighted the candle; "dow thed! where are you? Do you hear? It's of doe use, you kdow—codcealbedt is vaid. Do you hear? I'll sbash you, if you dod't cobe out! Where have you got to? Hollo!"

All was still silent. There was not a breath to indicate the presence of a soul.

"I'll tell you what it is, old fellow," resumed Tom, "you've poked yourself sobewhere; but dod't believe I'b goidg to give you up: dot a bit of it! I'll have you, add doe bistake: you'd better cobe out of your hole: d'ye hear?"

Tom examined minutely every cupboard and every corner; he looked round and round, but no creature could he see. He also examined the skeleton. There it stood—it didn't appear to have been removed—it didn't appear to have been touched, and yet he heard the bells ring