184 THE SMUGGLER. 



sad violation of the chronological order I have mentioned 

 above, I had already arrived, as the reader must remember, 

 in chapter fourteen. 



Mr. Croylarid then stood in the little drawing-room, fitted 

 up according to his own peculiar notions, where Sir Edward's 

 wound had been dressed, and Edith, his niece, sat at no great 

 distance on one of the low ottomans, for which he had an 

 oriental predilection. She was a little excited, both by all 

 that she had witnessed and #11 that she had not; and her 

 bright and beautiful eyes were raised to her uncle's face, as 

 she inquired, "How did all this happen? You said you would 

 tell me when they were gone." 



Mr. Croyland gazed at her with that sort of parental 

 tenderness which he had long nourished in his heart towards 

 her; and certainly, as she sat there, leaning lightly upon her 

 arm, and with the sunshine falling upon her beautiful form, 

 her left hand resting upon her knee, and one small beautiful 

 foot extended beyond her gown, he could not help thinking 

 her the loveliest creature he had ever beheld in his life, and 

 asking himself: " Is such a being as that, so full of grace in 

 person, and excellence in mind, to be consigned to a rude, 

 brutal bully, like the man who has just met with deserved 

 chastisement at my door?'' 



He had just begun to answer her question, thinking how he 

 might best do so without inflicting more pain upon her than 

 necessary, when the black servant I have mentioned entered the 

 drawing-room, saying, " A man want to speak to you, master." 



" A man ! '' cried Mr. Croyland, impatiently. " What man ? 

 I don't want any man! I've had enough of men for one 

 morning, surely, with those two fools fighting just opposite 

 my house! What sort of a man is it?' 7 



"Very odd man, indeed, master," answered the Hindoo. 

 " Got great blue pattern on him's face. Strange looking man. 

 Think him half mad," and he made a deferential bow, as if 

 submitting his judgment to that of his master. 



" Well, I like odd men, 5 ' exclaimed Mr. Croyland. " I like 

 strange men better than any others. I'm not sure I do not 

 like them a leetle mad; not too much, not too much, you know, 

 Edith, my dear! Not dangerous; just mad enough to be 

 pleasant, but not furious or obstreperous. Where have you 

 put him?" 



