Finally, he offered her a pretty little
stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for its
origin. A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured
him it had been buried in four human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it
through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and unsheathed
it twice over before she fell asleep. Her father meanwhile was dreaming
he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on his paying for
it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was a most curious
creature, like a boar, with stag's horns and a pheasant's tail.
"Ellis tells me there's splendid shooting in Corsica," said the colonel,
as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. "If it hadn't been for
the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there."
"Well," replied Miss Lydia, "why shouldn't we go to Corsica? While you
are hunting I can sketch--I should love to have that grotto Captain
Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a
child, in my album."
It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the
colonel had won his daughter's approbation.
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