"And she is to be there-nay, is there already; so one more chance is given me to meet her. But for what?-to part again silently, and more helplessly bewitched than ever, perhaps. Ah, never will she learn to love me as I love her " thought I, as I turned over my old friend's letter, not venturing, however, to give utterance to this aloud, as the quizzical eyes of Phil Caradoc were upon me. "A penny for your thoughts, friend Harry?" said he, laughing; "try another cigar, and rouse yourself. What the deuce is in this letter, that it affects you so? Have you put a pot of money on the wrong horse?" "Been jilted, had a bill returned, or what?" suggested Gwynne. "Neither, fortunately," said I; "it is simply an invitation from Sir Madoc Lloyd, which rather perplexes me.