For nearly a week he kept this conscious, constant watch.  Its insisting sorrowful longing was like a cry from Love’s watch towers, but it did not reach the beloved one; or else she did not answer it.  One bright morning he resolved to walk through the great dry goods stores—­ Whiteside’s, Guest’s, and the famous Mrs. Holland’s, where the beauties of the “gay Quakers” bought their choicest fabrics in foreign chintzes, lawns, and Indian muslins.  All along Front, Arch, and Walnut Streets, the pavements were lumbered with boxes and bales of fine imported goods, and he was getting impatient of the bustle and pushing, when he saw Anthony Clymer approaching him.  The young man was driving a new and very spirited team, and as he with some difficulty held them, he called to Hyde to come and drive with him.  Hyde was just in the weary mood that welcomed change, and he leaped to his friend’s side, and felt a sudden exhilaration in the rapid motion of the buoyant, active animals.  After an hour’s driving they came to a famous hostelry, and Clymer said, “Let us give ourselves lunch, and the horses bait and a rest, then we will make them show their mettle home again.”

The proposal met with a hearty response, and the young men had a luxurious meal and more good wine than they ought to have taken.  But Hyde had at last found some one who could talk of Cornelia; rave of her face and figure, and vow she was the topmost beauty in Philadelphia.  He listened, and finally asked where she dwelt, and learned that she was staying with Mr. Theodore Willing, a wealthy gentleman of the strictest Quaker principles, but whose son was one of the “feeble men or wet Quakers” who wore powder and ruffles and dressed like a person of fashion.

“He dangles around the bewitching Miss Moran, and gives no other man a chance,” said Clymer spitefully.  “It is the talk from east to west, and ’tis said, he is so enamoured of the beauty, that he will have her, if he buy her.”

“Do you talk in your sleep?  Or do you tell your dreams for truth?” asked Hyde angrily. “’Tis not to be believed that a girl so lovely can be bought by mere pounds sterling.  A woman’s heart lies not so near her hand—­God’s mercy for it! or any fool might seize it.”

“What are you raging at?  She is not your mistress.”

“Let us talk of horses—­or politics—­or the last play—­or anything but women.  They breed quarrels, if you do but name them.”

“Content.  I will tell you a good story about Tom Herring,”

The story was evidently a good one, for Hyde laughed at the recital with a noisy merriment very unusual to him.  The champ and gallop of the horses, and Clymer’s vociferous enjoyment of his own wit, blended with it; and for a moment or two Hyde was under a physical exhilaration as intoxicating as the foam of the champagne they had been drinking.  In the height of this meretricious gaiety, a carriage, driving at a rather rapid rate turned into the road; and Cornelia suddenly raised her eyes to the festive young men, and then dropped them with an abrupt, even angry expression.