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incongruities! Go, vile scrap! I must tear thee to atoms or thou wilt craze my brain. (Tearing the letter furiously.)

Enter DICKENSON.

(Angrily.) Who's there?

DICKENSON.

Mr. Crafton wishes to speak with your Honour.

CHARVILLE.

Let him speak with the devil! are not the ladies below?

DICKENSON.

Yes, Sir; but he has express business with yourself, and would follow me up stairs.

CHARVILLE (in a whisper).

Is he behind thee?

DICKENSON.

Yes, Sir, close at hand.

CHARVILLE (in a low voice).

Let him come then, since it cannot be helped. (Gathering up the torn papers hastily while Crafton enters.)

CRAFTON.

Good morning. Sir; pray let me assist you.

CHARVILLE.

O Sir, I beg—I shall do it myself in a moment.

CRAFTON.

(Stooping.) Pray allow me; the pieces are as