“Why, you see,” said Jack, giving his trowsers a hitch, “as I said before, we are nearly there.”

“Well, what of that? we intended to go there, did we not?” inquired Chillingworth.

“Yes, exactly; that is, you intended to do so, I know, but I didn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?” inquired Chillingworth; “you are a complete riddle to-night, Jack; what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing; only, you see, I don’t want to go into the cottage, ’cause, you see, the admiral and I have had what you may call a bit of a growl, and I am in disgrace there a little, though I don’t know why, or wherefore; I always did my duty by him, as I did by my country.  The ould man, however, takes fits into his head; at the same time I shall take some too; Jack’s as good as his master, ashore, at all events.”

“Well, then, you object to go in?” said Chillingworth.

“That is the state of the case; not that I’m afraid, or have any cause to be ashamed of myself; but I don’t want to make anybody else uncomfortable, by causing black looks.”

“Very well, Jack,” said the doctor.  “I am much obliged to you, and, if you don’t like to come, I won’t press you against your inclination.”

“I understand, doctor.  I will leave you here, if you can manage the rest of the way by yourself; there are not two hundred yards now to go, so you are all safe; so good bye.”

“Good bye, Jack,” said Doctor Chillingworth, who stood wiping his forehead, whilst the picture was standing up against the poles.

“Do you want a hand up first?”

“No, thank you; I can get it up very well without any trouble—­it’s not so heavy.”

“Good bye, then,” said Jack; and, in a few moments more, Jack Pringle was out of sight, and the doctor was alone with the ominous picture.  He had not far to go, and was within hail of the cottage; but it was late, and yet he believed he should find them up, for the quietude and calmness of the evening hour was that which most chimed with their feelings.  At such a time they could look out upon the face of nature, and the freedom of thought appeared the greater, because there was no human being to clash with the silence and stillness of the scene.

“Well,” muttered Chillingworth, “I’ll go at once to the cottage with my burthen.  How they will look at me, and wonder what could induce me to bring this away.  I can hardly help smiling at the thought of how they will look at the apparition I shall make.”

Thus filled with notions that appeared to please him, the doctor shouldered the picture, and walked slowly along until he reached the dead wall that ran up to the entrance, or nearly so, of the gardens.

There was a plantation of young trees that overhung the path, and cast a deep shadow below—­a pleasant spot in hot weather.

The doctor had been carrying the picture, resting the side of it on the small of his arm, and against his shoulder; but this was an inconvenient posture, because the weight of the picture cut his arm so much, that he was compelled to pause, and shift it more on his shoulder.