and animated to me for the solitary six days I had been spending since
last Sunday. The arrival of our boat, and especially my appearance in
it, created quite a stir among the loungers who are always hanging about
the pier. By this time every individual in St. Peter-Port knew that Dr.
Martin Dobrée had been missing for several days, having gone out in a
fisherman's boat to Sark the Sunday before. I had seen myself in the
glass before leaving my chamber at Vaudin's, and to some extent I
presented the haggard appearance of a shipwrecked man. A score of voices
greeted me; some welcoming, some chaffing. "Glad to see you again, old
fellow!" "What news from Sark?" "Been in quod for a week?" "His hair is
not cut short!" "No; he has tarried in Sark till his beard be grown!"
There was a circling laugh at this last jest at my appearance, which had
been uttered by a good-tempered, jovial clergyman, who was passing by on
his way to the town church. I did my best to laugh and banter in return,
but it was like a bear dancing with a sore head. I felt gloomy and
uncomfortable. A change had come over me since I left home, for my
return was by no means an unmixed pleasure.

As I was proceeding along the quay, with a train of sympathizing
attendants, a man, who was driving a large cart piled with packages in
cases, as if they had come in from England by the steamer, touched his
hat to me, and stopped the horse. It was in order to inform me that he
was conveying furniture which we--that is, Julia and I--had ordered, up
to our new house, the windows of which I could see glistening in the
morning sun. My spirits did not rise, even at this cheerful information.
I looked coldly at the cases, bade the man go on, and shook off my train
by taking an abrupt turn up a flight of steps, leading directly into the
Haute Rue.

I had chosen instinctively the nearest by-way homeward, but, once in the