“Is the lady in England now, sir?” inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression.

“Dead, sir⁠—dead,” said the stranger, applying to his right eye the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. “Never recovered the stomach pump⁠—undermined constitution⁠—fell a victim.”

“And her father?” inquired the poetic Snodgrass.

“Remorse and misery,” replied the stranger. “Sudden disappearance⁠—talk of the whole city⁠—search made everywhere without success⁠—public fountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing⁠—weeks elapsed⁠—still a stoppage⁠—workmen employed to clean it⁠—water drawn off⁠—father-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his right boot⁠—took him out, and the fountain played away again, as well as ever.”