W. BRAUN, Soul-tatters.

    In the present there is absolute redemption.  Though a gulf
    should yawn, go not you to sleep, but rub your eyes; be up
    and doing.—­JAKES.

In the meantime, SONOGUN’s cousin, ACIS ARRANT, generally known to his jocular intimates as Knave ARRANT, had been living in luxury with his cousin’s weak mother, whom he had contrived to marry.  To effect this, however, he had been compelled to tear a will into little pieces, and had, at the same time, ruined that peace of his mind which he often gave to SONOGUN.  The unfortunate consequence was, that SONOGUN did not value it in the least, and always returned it to him.  And thus the relations of the two men, who should have been friends, the guardian and the ward, were always on a hostile footing, which only the most delicate handling could have healed.  ACIS was not happy.  When his glass told him he was old, he had no repartee ready, and could only speculate gloomily on the disagreeable fate which had compelled him to take part in a modern novel, and had evidently told him off to pass away into the unseen in Chapter 40.

But, of course, GLADYS and her father, the doctor, knew nothing about all this.  GLADYS always looked happy; her hair, her mouth, her eyes, her ears, even her little unformed nose, all looked as happy as possible.  She was a pleasant little patent moraliser, with a double escapement action for great occasions.  On this evening all the family was gathered together, including the inevitable infant, whose prattle serves to soothe the gloomy perversity of morose heroes.  On such an evening as this SONOGUN had seen them all years ago, and, though he was standing in the garden and all the windows were shut, he had heard every single whisper of the family conversation.  The Doctor seemed to be troubled, and GLADYS came up to him in her caressing way.

“My dear,” he said, simply, “SONOGUN is in trouble, and we must rescue him.”  No more was said, but the next moment GLADYS and her father had left by the London express.

CHAPTER IV.

  All things are fair that are not dark;
    Yet all are dark that are not fair. 
  And the same cat that slays the lark,
    Itself is often killed by care.—­BOHER.

SONOGUN had seen a notice in a railway-carriage.  “Beware of card-sharpers” was printed upon it, and it flashed upon him, with the force of a revelation, that it must be meant for him.  Once more he made up his mind.  He would fly.  Fear lent him a spare pair of second-hand wings.  He whistled to his dog Stray, and having thrown HAECKEL and RENAN out of the window, he flapped twice, and then soared up, Stray following as best he could.  It was very dark, and the clouds were threatening.  For a long time he avoided them, but at length he fell into a particularly damp one, and would inevitably have been drowned, had not the sagacious Stray brought men to his assistance.  And thus SONOGUN, the scoffer, the agnostic, the moody, gloomy, morose, cast-iron, Roman-faced misanthrope, got home.  That same evening he changed his clothes and his character, and on the following day married GLADYS.