In two days after the last conversation we met in the summer-house.

There was no addition to our party but Mrs. Milverton.

Before Mr. Milverton commenced his story, there was a short conversation as follows:--

_Milverton._ Before I begin, Ellesmere, I must insist, as I told you before, upon having no interruptions from you. I have thought over this story for many years of my life. It is, as I told you, a real story, and a very serious one; and I have not the patience and good temper of Sir Arthur, to bear your interruptions.

_Mrs. Milverton._ Leonard, dear, I am sure I wish to hear your story without any interruptions; but don’t ask what is impossible. Lady Ellesmere and I pressed Sir John, when we were last in London, to come and hear with us that great preacher, the Rev. Mr. ----. I will never again ask Sir John to come to any sermon, for he behaved abominably:--“What does this prove?” “This is the third time he has made that statement, and nothing has come of it.” “Here, again, he is arguing in a circle.” And so he went on, worrying us in whispers with all manner of objections to the sermon: and even his wife could not keep him at all quiet.

_Ellesmere._ I hope you see, Milverton, that your wife (wives can say most uncomplimentary things) infers that your story will be very like a sermon. But now, let us make a bargain: let us enter into a contract. You are to prose on for one hour and a half, and during that one hour and a half I am only to interrupt twice, each time by a single sentence which is not to exceed fifteen words.

_Milverton._ I close at once with your proposition.

The events of the story I shall have to tell will have occurred at a period of the world’s history when this very spot on which we sit was far down in the ocean, from whence it has been raised by gradual upheavings.

_Ellesmere._ My goodness, what an opportunity that will give this man for inventing things which cannot be contradicted; and it will be no good showing that he can know no more of those times than we do, for, of course, the imaginative man--the egregious inventor (I suppose I must not say a short, sharp, true word)--declares that he knows all things by the force of his predominant imagination. I, poor man, know, for certain, nothing that has not happened in my own time, and before my own eyes.

_Sir Arthur._ I would not advise you always to trust your own eyes.

_Cranmer._ But let us not delay; let us have the story at once, Mr. Milverton; only do not let it be placed in impossible latitudes and longitudes, for to me, a plain practical man as I am, that a story should have some semblance of reality is a great comfort.

_Milverton._ Mine is all real, and must have happened: in fact, I know it did happen.

The Story of Realmah.