"You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit. The day had become suddenly overcast. Thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find.
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