anxious glance upon the pale, cold, marble countenance. My blood ran
cold--my legs trembled--my strength seemed to have failed me. Was I
mistaken? could it be the beloved of my heart?--'Yes; that is Miss
Price,' said the surgeon, coolly. All doubt on my part was now removed.
I had exhumed the body of her whom a thousand times I had pressed to my
sorrowful breast--whom I had clasped to my aching heart. I felt as if I
had committed some horrible crime--a murder, or other deadly deed!

"The surgeon and my father did not notice my emotions, but settled their
accounts. The medical man then offered us each a glass of brandy. I
drank mine with avidity, and then accompanied my father from the
spot--uncertain whether to rush back and claim the body, or not. But I
did not do so.

"For some days I wandered about scarcely knowing what I did--and
certainly not caring what became of me. One morning I was roving amidst
the fields, when I heard a loud voice exclaim, 'I say, you fellow there,
open the gate, will you?' I turned round, and recognised the baronet on
horseback. He had a large hunting whip in his hand.--'Open the gate!'
said I; 'and whom for?' 'Whom for!' repeated the baronet; 'why, for me,
to be sure, fellow.'--'Then open it yourself,' said I. The baronet was
near enough to me to reach me with his whip; and he dealt me a stinging
blow across the face. Maddened with pain, and soured with vexation, I
leapt over the gate and attacked the baronet with a stout ash stick
which I carried in my hand. I dragged him from his horse, and thrashed
him without mercy. When I was tired, I walked quietly away, he roaring
after me that he would be revenged upon me as sure as I was born.

"Next day I was arrested and taken before a magistrate. The baronet
appeared against me, and--to my surprise--swore that I had assaulted him
with a view to rob him, and that he had the greatest difficulty in
protecting his purse and watch. I told my story and showed the mark of
the baronet's whip across my face. The justice asked me if I could bring
forward my witnesses to character. The baronet exclaimed, 'How can he?
he has been in Dover Castle for smuggling.'--'Never!' I cried
emphatically.--'Well, your father has, then,' said the baronet. This I
could not deny.--'Oh! that's just the same thing!' cried the magistrate;
and I was committed to gaol for trial at the next Maidstone assizes.

"For three months I lay in prison. I was not, however, completely
hardened yet; nor did I associate with those who drank, and sang, and
swore. I detested vice in all its shapes; and I longed for an
opportunity to be good. It may seem strange to you, who know me _now_,
to hear me speak thus;--but you are not aware what I was _then_!

"I was tried, and found guilty. The next two years of my life I passed
at the hulks at Woolwich, dressed in dark grey, and wearing a chain
round my leg. Even there I did not grow so corrupted, but that I sought
for work the moment I was set at liberty again. I resolved not to return
home to my parents, for I detested the ways into which they had led me.
Turned away from the hulks one fine morning at ten o'clock, without a
farthing in my pocket nor the means of obtaining a morsel of bread, my
prospects were miserable enough. I could not obtain any employment in
Woolwich: evening was coming on--and I was hungry. Suddenly I thought of
enlisting. Pleased with this idea, I went to the barracks, and offered
myself as a recruit. The regiment stationed there was about to embark
for the East Indies in a few days and wanted men. Although certain of
being banished, as it were, to a most unhealthy climate for twenty-one
years, I preferred that to the life of a vagabond or a criminal in
England. The sergeant was delighted with me, because I could read and
write well; but the surgeon would not pass me. He said to me, 'You have
either been half-starved for a length of time, or you have undergone a
long imprisonment, for your flesh is as flabby as possible.' Thus was
this hope destroyed.

"Now what pains had the law taken to make me good--even supposing, that
I was really bad at the time of my condemnation? The law locked me up
for two years, half-starved me, and yet exacted from me as much labour
as a strong, healthy, man could have performed: then the law turned me
out into the wide world, so weak, reduced, and feeble, that even the
last resource of the most wretched--namely, enlisting in a regiment
bound for India--was closed against me!

"Well--that night I wandered into the country and slept under a hedge.
On the following morning I was compelled to satisfy the ravenous
cravings of my hunger with Swedish turnips plucked from the fields. This
food lay so cold upon my stomach that I felt ready to drop with illness,
misery, and fatigue. And yet, in this Christian land, even that morsel,
against which my heart literally heaved, was begrudged me. I was not
permitted to satisfy my hunger with the food of beasts. A constable came
up and took me into custody for robbing the turnip field. I was
conducted before a neighbouring justice of the peace. He asked me what I
meant by stealing the turnips? I told him that I had fasted for
twenty-four hours, and was hungry. 'Nonsense, hungry!' he exclaimed;
'I'd give five pounds to know what hunger is! you kind of fellows eat
turnips by way of luxury, you do--and not because you're hungry.' I
assured him that I spoke the truth.--'Well, why don't you go to work?'
he demanded.--'So I will, sir, with pleasure, if you will give me
employment,' I replied.--'Me give you employment,' he shouted; 'I
wouldn't have such a fellow about me, if he'd work for nothing. Where
did you sleep last night?'--'Under a hedge, sir,' was my answer.--'Ah! I
thought so,' he exclaimed: 'a rogue and vagabond evidently.' And this
excellent specimen of the 'Great unpaid' committed me forthwith to the
treadmill for one month _as a rogue and vagabond_.

"The treadmill is a horrible punishment: it is too bad even for those
that are really rogues and vagabonds. The weak and the strong take the
same turn, without any distinction; and I have seen men fall down
fainting upon the platform, with the risk of having their legs or arms
smashed by the wheel, through sheer exhaustion. Then the miserable fare
that one receives in prison renders him more fit for an hospital than
for the violent labour of the treadmill.

"I had been two years at the hulks, and was not hardened: I had been a
smuggler and a body-snatcher, and was not hardened:--but this one
month's imprisonment and spell at the treadmill _did_ harden me--and
hardened me completely! I could not see any advantage in being good. I
could not find out any inducement to be honest. As for a desire to lead
an honourable life, that was absurd. I now laughed the idea to scorn;
and I swore within myself that whenever I _did_ commence a course of
crime, I would be an unsparing demon at my work. Oh! how I then detested
the very name of virtue. 'The rich look upon the poor as degraded
reptiles that are born in infamy and that cannot possibly possess a good
instinct,' I reasoned within myself. 'Let a rich man accuse a poor man
before a justice, a jury, or a judge, and see how quick the poor wretch
is condemned! The aristocracy hold the lower classes in horror and
abhorrence. The legislature thinks that if it does not make the most
grinding laws to keep down the poor, the poor will rise up and commit
the most unheard-of atrocities. In fact the rich are prepared to
believe any infamy which is imputed to the poor.' It was thus that I
reasoned; and I looked forward to the day of my release with a
burning--maddening--drunken joy!

"That day came. I was turned adrift, as before, without a shilling and
without a crust. That alone was as bad as branding the words _rogue and
vagabond_ upon my forehead. How could I remain honest, even if I had any
longer been inclined to do so, when I could not get work and had no
money--no bread--no lodging? The legislature does not think of all this.
It fancies that all its duty consists in punishing men for crimes, and
never dreams of adopting measures to prevent them from committing crimes
at all. But I now no more thought of honesty: I went out of prison a
confirmed ruffian. I had no money--no conscience--no fear--no hope--no
love--no friendship--no sympathy--no kindly feeling of any sort. My soul
had turned to the blackness of hell!

"The very first thing I did was to cut myself a good tough ash stick
with a heavy knob at one end. The next thing I did was to break into the
house of the very justice who had sentenced me to the treadmill for
eating a raw turnip; and I feasted jovially upon the cold fowl and ham
which I found in his larder. I also drank success to my new career in a
bumper of his fine old wine. This compliment was due to him: he had made
me what I was!

"I carried off a small quantity of plate--all that I could find, you may
be sure--and took my departure from the house of the justice. As I was
hurrying away from this scene of my first exploit, I passed by a fine
large barn, also belonging to my friend the magistrate. I did not
hesitate a moment what to do. I owed him a recompense for my month at
the treadmill; and I thought I might as well add _Incendiary_ to my
other titles of _Rogue_ and _Vagabond_. Besides, I longed for
mischief--the world had persecuted me quite long enough, the hour of
retaliation had arrived. I fired the barn and scampered away as hard as
I could. I halted at a distance of about half a mile, and turned to
look. A bright column of flame was shooting up to heaven! Oh! how happy
did I feel at that moment. Happy! this is not the word! I was
mad--intoxicated--delirious with joy. I literally danced as I saw the
barn burning. I was avenged on the man who would not allow me to eat a
cold turnip to save me from starving:--that one cold turnip cost him
dear! The fire spread, and communicated with his dwelling-house; and
there was no adequate supply of water. The barn--the stacks--the
out-houses--the mansion were all destroyed. But that was not all. The
only daughter of the justice--a lovely girl of nineteen--was burnt to
death. I read the entire account in the newspapers a few days
afterwards!

"And the upper classes wonder that there are so many incendiary fires:
my only surprise is, that there are so few! Ah! the Lucifer-match is a
fearful weapon in the hands of the man whom the laws, the aristocracy,
and the present state of society have ground down to the very dust. I
felt all my power--I knew all my strength--I was aware of all my
importance as a man, when I read of the awful extent of misery and
desolation which I had thus caused. Oh! I was signally avenged!

"I now bethought me of punishing the baronet in the same manner. He had
been the means of sending me for two years to the hulks at Woolwich.
Pleased with this idea, I jogged merrily on towards Walmer. It was late
at night when I reached home. I found my mother watching by my father's
death-bed, and arrived just in time to behold him breathe his last. My
mother spoke to me about a decent interment for him. I laughed in her
face. Had he ever allowed any one to sleep quietly in his grave? No. How
could _he_ then hope for repose in the tomb? My mother remonstrated: I
threatened to dash out her brains with my stout ash stick; and on the
following night I sold my father's body to the surgeon who had
anatomised poor Kate Price! This was another vengeance on my part.

"Not many hours elapsed before I set fire to the largest barn upon the
baronet's estate. I waited in the neighbourhood and glutted myself with
a view of the conflagration. The damage was immense. The next day I
composed a song upon the subject, which I have never since forgotten.
You may laugh at the idea of me becoming a poet; but you know well
enough that I received some trifle of education--that I was not a fool
by nature--and that in early life I was food of reading. The lines were
these:--

          "THE INCENDIARY'S SONG.

    "The Lucifer-match! the Lucifer-match!
      'Tis the weapon for us to wield.
    How bonnily burns up rick and thatch,
      And the crop just housed from the field!
    The proud may oppress and the rich distress,
      And drive us from their door;--
    But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match
      From the hand of the desperate poor!

    "The purse-proud squire and the tyrant peer
      May keep their Game Laws still;
    And the very glance of the overseer
      May continue to freeze and kill.
    The wealthy and great, and the chiefs of the state,
      May tyrannise more and more;--
    But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match
      From the hand of the desperate poor!

    "'_Oh! give us bread!_' is the piteous wail
      That is murmured far and wide;
    And echo takes up and repeats the tale--
      But the rich man turns aside.
    The Justice of Peace may send his Police
      To scour the country o'er;
    But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match
      From the hand of the desperate poor!

    "Then, hurrah! hurrah! for the Lucifer-match;
      'Tis the weapon of despair:--
    How bonnily blaze up barn and thatch--
      The poor man's revenge is there!
    For the _worm_ will turn on the feet that spurn--
      And surely a _man_ is more?--
    Oh! none can e'er snatch the Lucifer-match
      From the hand of the desperate poor!

"The baronet suspected that I was the cause of the fire, as I had just
returned to the neighbourhood; and he had me arrested and taken before a
justice; but there was not a shadow of proof against me, nor a pretence
to keep me in custody. I was accordingly discharged, with an admonition
'_to take care of myself_'--which was as much as to say, '_If I can find
an opportunity of sending you to prison, I will_.'

"Walmer and its neighbourhood grew loathsome to me. The image of Kate
Price constantly haunted me; and I was moreover shunned by every one who
knew that I had been at the hulks. I accordingly sold off all the
fishing tackle, and other traps, and came up to London with the old
Mummy.

"I need say no more."

"And there's enough in your history to set a man a-thinking," exclaimed
the waiter of the boozing-ken; "there is indeed."

"Ah! I b'lieve you, there is," observed the Cracksman, draining the pot
which had contained the egg-flip.

The clock struck mid-day when Holford entered the parlour of the
boozing-ken.

CHAPTER LXIII.

THE PLOT.

"Well, young blade," cried the Cracksman, "you haven't kept us waiting
at all, I suppose?"

"And do you fancy that I could wake myself up again in a minute when I
had once laid down?" demanded the lad, sulkily.

"Oh! bother to the laying down, Harry," said the Cracksman. "Don't you
think me and Tony wants sleep as well as a strong hearty young feller
like you? and we haven't put buff in downy[74] since the night afore
last."

"Well, never mind chaffing about _that_," cried the Resurrection Man
impatiently: then, having dismissed the waiter, he continued, "Now,
about this business at the palace? We must have no delay; and when we
make appointments in future, they must be better kept. But I won't speak
of this one now, because there's some allowance to be made for you, as
you were up the best part of the night, and you ain't accustomed to it
as we are. But to the point. How is this affair to be managed?"

"I don't see how it is to be managed at all," answered Holford, firmly.

"The devil you don't," cried the Cracksman.

"Then what was you doing all that time in the palace?"

"Running a thousand risks of being found out every minute----"

"So we all do at times."

"And sneaking about at night-time to find food."

"I think you managed to discover the right place for the grist," said
the Resurrection Man, his cadaverous countenance wearing an ironical
smile; "for you must recollect that I found you in the pantry."

"And the pantry's a good neighbourhood: it can't be far from where the
plate's kept," observed the Cracksman.

"The plate is kept where no one can get at it," said Holford.

"How do you know that, youngster?"

"I overheard the servants count it, lock it up in a chest, and take it
up to the apartments of--of--the Lord Steward, I think they call him."

"The deuce!" ejaculated the Cracksman, in a tone of deep disappointment.

"Now I tell you what it is, young fellow," said the Resurrection Man; "I
think that for some reason or another you're deceiving us."

"You think so?" cried the lad. "And why should you fancy that I am
deceiving you?"

"Because your manners tell me so."

"In that case," said Holford, rising from his seat, "it is not of any
use for us to talk more upon the subject."

"By G--d, it is of use, though!" exclaimed the Cracksman. "You shall
tell us the truth by fair means or foul;" and he produced from his
pocket a clasp-knife, the murderous blade of which flew open by means of
a spring which was pressed at the back.

Holford turned pale, and resumed his seat.

"Now, you see that it is no use to humbug us," said the Resurrection
Man. "Tell us the whole truth, and you will of course get your reg'lars
out of the swag. You told me that the Queen was going to Windsor in a
day or two; and that was as much as to say that the affair would come
off then."

"I told you the Queen was going to Windsor--and I tell you so again,"
replied Holford. "But I can't help it if they lock up the plate: and I
don't know what else there is for you to carry off."

The Resurrection Man and the Cracksman exchanged glances of mingled rage
and disappointment. They did not precisely believe what the lad told
them, and yet they could not see any motive which he was likely to have
for misleading them--unless it were to retain all the profits of his
discoveries in the palace for his own sole behoof.

"Now, Holford, my good fellow," said the Cracksman, shutting up his
clasp-knife, and returning it to his pocket, "if you fancy that you are
able to go through this business alone, and without any help, you're
deucedly mistaken."

"I imagine no such thing," returned Holford; "and to prove to you that I
am convinced there is nothing to be got by the affair, in any shape or
way, do you and Tidkins attempt it alone together. He found his way to
the pantry as well as I did, and can tell you what he saw there."

"That's true," said the Resurrection Man, apparently struck by this
observation. "So I suppose we must give the thing up as a bad job?"

"I suppose we must," added the Cracksman, grinding his teeth. "But, by
G--d, if I thought this younker was humbugging us, I'd plant three
inches of cold steel in him, come what would."

"Thank you for your kindness," said Holford, not without a shudder.
"Another time, get some person to act for you whose word you will
believe. And now," he continued, turning to the Resurrection Man,
"please to recollect the terms we agreed upon--a third of all we could
get if successful, or five pounds for me in case of failure."

"Well, I shall keep my word," returned the Resurrection Man.

"Blow me if I would, though," exclaimed the Cracksman, fiercely.

"Yes--fair play's a jewel," said the Resurrection Man, darting a
significant glance at his companion; then, feeling in his pocket, he
added, "Holford is entitled to his five pounds, and he shall have them;
but, curse me! if I have enough in my pocket to pay him. I tell you what
it is, my lad," he continued, turning towards the young man, "you must
meet me somewhere this evening, and I'll give you the money."

"That will do," cried Holford. "Where shall I meet you?"

"Where?" repeated the Resurrection Man, affecting to muse upon the
question: "Oh! I will tell you. You know the _Dark-House_ in Brick Lane,
Spitalfields?"

"I have heard of it, but was never there."

"Well--meet me there to-night at nine o'clock, Harry," said the
Resurrection Man, in as kind a tone as he could assume, "and I'll tip
you the five couters."

"At nine punctually," returned Holford. "I would not press you, but I
have lost my place in consequence of being absent all this time without
being able to give any account of myself; and so I am regularly hard up.
I'm going to look after a situation up somewhere beyond Camden Town this
afternoon, that I heard of by accident: but I am afraid I shall not get
it, as I can give no reference for character;--and even if I could, it
would be to the public-house where I was pot-boy, and the place I'm
going to try for is to clean boots and knives, and make myself
generally useful in a gentleman's house. So I am afraid that I am not
likely to get the situation."

"I hope you may, my lad, for your sake," cried the Resurrection Man. "At
all events the five quids will keep you from starving for the next two
months to come; so mind and be punctual this evening at nine."

"I shall not fail," answered Holford; and with these words he departed.

"Well, blow me, if I can make out now what you're up to," exclaimed the
Cracksman, as soon as he and his companion in infamy were alone
together.

"You never thought that I should be fool enough to give him five coolers
for doing nothing but humbug us?" said the Resurrection Man. "No--no:
catch a weasel asleep--but not Tony Tidkins! Don't you see that he has
been making fools of us? I remember what a devil of a hurry he was in to
get me away from the palace, when I lighted upon him in the pantry, and,
altogether, I am convinced he has been doing his best to stall us off
from the business."

"So I think," said the Cracksman.

"Well," resumed the Resurrection Man, "we'll just try what a few days of
the pit under the staircase in my crib will do for him. I have mended up
the hole that opens into the saw-pit next door; and there is no chance
of his escaping. We must make him drink a glass at the _Dark House_, and
drug the grog well, and we needn't fear about being able to get him up
into my street."

"Ah! now I understand you," observed the Cracksman: "only see what it is
to have a head like your'n. The pit will soon make him tell us the real
truth."

"And if not--if he remains obstinate--" mused the Resurrection Man,
aloud;--"why--in that case--"

"We shall know what to do with him," added the Cracksman.

And the two miscreants exchanged glances of horrible significancy.

CHAPTER LXIV.

THE COUNTERPLOT.

On the same day that the above conversation took place in the parlour of
the boozing-ken on Saffron Hill, Markham was seated in his library, with
several books before him. His countenance was pale, and bore the traces
of recent illness; and an air of profound melancholy reigned upon his
handsome features. He endeavoured to fix his attention on the volume
beneath his eyes; but his thoughts were evidently far away from the
subject of his studies. At length, as if to compose his mind, he turned
abruptly towards his writing-desk, and took thence a note which he had
already perused a thousand times, and every word of which was indelibly
stamped upon his memory.

We can suppose a traveller upon Saara's burning desert,--sinking beneath
fatigue, and oppressed by a thirst, the agony of which becomes
maddening. Presently he reaches a well: it is deep and difficult of
access;--nevertheless, the traveller's life or death reposes at the
bottom of that well. In like manner did Markham's only hope lay in that
letter.

No wonder, then, that he read it so often; no marvel that he referred to
it when his mind was afflicted, and when the wing of his spirit was
oppressed by the dense atmosphere of despair.

And yet the contents of that letter were simple and laconic enough:

_Richmond._

     "The Countess Alteroni presents her compliments to Mr. Markham, and
     begs to acknowledge Mr. Markham's letter of yesterday's date.

     "The countess expresses her most sincere thinks for a communication
     which prevented an arrangement that, under the circumstances
     disclosed, would have proved a serious family calamity."

"Yes--Isabella is saved!" said Markham to himself, as his eyes wandered
over the contents of that most welcome note, which he had received some
days previously: "it is impossible to mistake the meaning of that last
sentence. She is saved--and I have been the instrument of her salvation!
I have rescued her from an union with a profligate, an adventurer, a man
of infamous heart! Surely--surely her parents will admit that I have
paid back a portion of the debt of gratitude which their kindness
imposed upon me! Yes--the countess herself seems to hold out a hope of
reconciliation;--that note bids me hope! It is more than coldly
polite--it is confidential:--it gives me to understand the results of my
own letter denouncing the miscreant George Montague Greenwood."

Richard's countenance brightened as he reasoned thus within himself. But
in a few moments, a dark cloud again displaced that gleam of happiness.

"Enthusiastic visionary that I am!" he murmured to himself. "I construe
common politeness into a ground of hope: I fancy that every bird I
see--however ill-omened--is a dove of promise, with an olive-branch in
its mouth! Alas! mine is a luckless fate--and God alone can tell what
strange destinies yet await me."

He rose from his chair, and walked to the window. The rain, which had
poured down in torrents all the morning, had ceased; and the afternoon
was fine and unusually warm for the early part of January. He glanced
towards the hill, whereon the two trees stood, and thought of his
brother--that much-loved brother, of whose fate he was kept so cruelly
ignorant!

While he was standing at the window, buried in profound thought, and
with his eyes fixed upon the hill, he heard a light step near him; and
in a moment Ellen Monroe was by his side.

"Do I intrude, Richard?" she exclaimed. "I knocked twice at the door;
and not receiving any reply, imagined that there was no one here. I came
to change a book. But you--you are thoughtful and depressed."

"I was meditating upon a topic which to me is always fraught with
distressing ideas," answered Markham: "I was thinking of my brother!"

"Your brother!" ejaculated Ellen; and her countenance became ashy pale.

"Yes," continued Richard, not observing her emotion; "I would rather
know the worst--if misfortunes have really overtaken him--than remain in
this painful state of suspense. If he be prosperous, why should he stay
away? if poor, why does he not seek consolation with me?"

"Perhaps," said Ellen, hesitatingly, "perhaps he is--in reality--much
better off than--than--any one who feels interested in him."

"Heaven knows!" ejaculated Markham. "But ere now you observed that I was
melancholy and dispirited; and I have told you wherefore. Ellen, I must
make the same charge against you."

"Against me!" cried the young lady, with a start, while at the same time
a deep blush suffused her cheeks.

"Yes, against you," continued Richard, now glancing towards her. "You
may think that I am joking--but I never was more serious in my life. For
the few days that you have been in this house, you have been subject to
intervals of profound depression."

"I!" repeated Ellen, the hue of her blushes becoming more intensely
crimson, as her glances sank confusedly beneath those of Markham.

"Alas! Ellen," answered Richard, "I have myself been too deeply
initiated in the mysteries of adversity and sorrow,--I have drunk too
deeply of the cup of affliction,--I have experienced too much bitter,
bitter anguish, not to be able to detect the presence of unhappiness in
others. And by many signs, Ellen, have I discovered that you are
unhappy. I speak to you as a friend--I do not wish to penetrate into
your secrets;--but if there be any thing in which I can aid you--if
there be aught wherein my poor services or my counsels may be rendered
available,--speak, command me!"

"Oh! Richard," cried Ellen, tears starting into her eyes, "how kind--how
generous of you thus to think of me--you who have already done so much
for my father and myself!"

"Were you not the companion of my childhood, Ellen? and should I not be
to you as a brother, and you to me as a sister? Let me be your brother,
then--and tell me how I can alleviate the weight of that unhappiness
which is crushing your young heart!"

"A brother!" exclaimed Ellen, almost wildly; "yes--you shall--you must
be a brother to me! And I will be your sister! Ah! there is consolation
in that idea!"--then, after a moment's pause, she added, "But the time
is not yet come when I, as a sister, shall appeal to you as a brother
for that aid which a brother alone can give! And until then--ask me no
more--speak to me no farther upon the subject--I implore you!"

Ellen pressed Richard's hand convulsively, and then hurried from the
room.

Markham had scarcely recovered from the astonishment into which these
last words had thrown him,--words which, coming from the lips of a young
and beautiful girl, were fraught with additional mystery and
interest,--when Whittingham entered the library.

"A young lad, Master Richard," said the old butler, "has called about
the situation which is wacated in our household. I took the percaution
of leaving word yesterday with the people at a public of most dubitable
respectability called the _Servants' Arms_, where I call now and then
when I go into town; and it appears that this young lad having called in
there quite perspicuously this morning heard of the place."

"Let him step in, Whittingham," said Markham. "I will speak to
him--although, to tell you the truth, I do not admire a public-house
recommendation."

Whittingham made no reply, but opening the door, exclaimed, "Step in
here, young man; step in here."

And Henry Holford stood in the presence of Richard Markham.

Whittingham retired.

"I believe you are in want of a young lad, sir," said Holford, "to
assist in the house."

"I am," answered Markham. "Have you over served in that capacity
before?"

"No, sir; but if you would take me and give me a trial, I should feel
very much obliged. I have neither father or mother, and am totally
dependant upon my own exertions."

These words were quite sufficient to command the attention and sympathy
of the generous-hearted Richard. The lad was moreover of superior
manners, and well-spoken; and there was something in his appeal to
Markham which was very touching.

"What have you been before, my good lad?"

"To tell you the truth, sir," was the reply, "I have been a simple
pot-boy in a public-house."

"And of course the landlord will give you a character?"

"Yes--for honesty and industry, sir; but--"

"But what?"

"I do not think it is of any use to apply to the landlord for a
character, because--"

"Because what?" demanded Markham, seeing that the young man again
hesitated. "If you can have a character for honesty and industry, you
need not be afraid of any thing else that could be said of you."

"The truth is, sir," answered Holford, "I absented myself without leave,
and remained away for two or three days: then, when I returned this
morning at a very early hour I refused to give an account of my
proceedings. That is the whole truth, sir; and if you will only give me
a trial--"

"There is something very straightforward and ingenuous about you," said
Markham: "perhaps you would have no objection to tell me how you were
occupied during your absence."

"That, sir, is impossible! But I declare most solemnly that I did
nothing for which I can reproach myself--unless," added Holford, "it was
in leading a couple of villains to believe that I would do a certain
thing which I never once intended to do."

"Really your answers are so strange," cried Richard, "that I know not
what to say to you. It however appears from your last observation that
two villains tempted you to do something wrong--that you lead them to
believe you would fall into their plans--and that you never meant to
fulfil your promise."

"It is all perfectly true, sir. They proposed a certain scheme in which
I was to be an agent: I accepted the office they assigned to me, because
it suited my disposition, and promised to gratify my curiosity in a way
where it was deeply interested."

"And how did you explain your conduct to the two men whom you speak of?"
inquired Richard, not knowing what to think of the young lad, but half
inclining to believe that his bruin was affected.

"I invented certain excuses, sir," was Holford's reply, "which
completely damped their ardour in the matter alluded to. And now, sir,
will you give me a trial? I feel convinced you will: had I not thought
so from the very beginning, I should not have spoken so freely as I have
done."

"I am disposed to assist you--I am desirous to meet your wishes," said
Markham. "Still, your representations are rather calculated to awaken
fears than clear up doubts concerning you. What guarantee can you offer
that you will never see those two villains again? what security--"

"Sir," said Holford, "your own manner is so frank and kind--so very
condescending, indeed, to a poor lad like me--that I would not deceive
you for the world. I _had_ promised to meet those men to-night--for the
last time--"

"To meet them again?"

"Yes, sir--to receive the reward promised for the service which I
undertook--"

"Ah! young man," cried Markham, "this is most imprudent--if not actually
criminal! and where was this precious interview to take place?"

"At the _Dark-House_, sir--"

"The _Dark-House_!" ejaculated Markham: "what--a low tavern in Brick
Lane, Spitalfields?"

"The same, sir."

"And the names of the two men?" demanded Richard hastily.

"Their right names and those by which they are commonly known amongst
their own set, are very different," said Holford.

"How are they known? what are they called in their own infamous sphere?"
cried Markham, his impatience amounting almost to a fever: "speak!"

"I do not know whether I shall be doing right," said Holford,
hesitating,--"perhaps I have already told you too much--"

"Speak, I say!" cried Richard, taking Holford by the collar of his
jacket; "speak. You do not know--you cannot guess how necessary it is
for me to have my present suspicions cleared up! Speak--I swear no harm
shall happen to you: on the contrary--I will reward you, if it should
turn out as I suppose. Once more, who are these villains?"

"They are called--"

"What? speak--speak!"

"The Resurrection Man--"

"Ah!"

"And the Cracksman."

"Then I am right--my suspicions are confirmed!" ejaculated Markham,
relinquishing his hold upon Holford's jacket, and throwing himself upon
a chair. "Sit down, my good lad--sit down: you and I have not done with
each other yet."

The young man appeared alarmed by Richard's exclamations and manners,
and seemed undecided whether to remain where he was or attempt to
escape.

Richard divined what was passing in the lad's bosom, and hastened to
reassure him.

"Sit down--and fear nothing. I swear most solemnly that no harm shall
happen to you, be you who or what you may: for I cannot suppose that you
are a participator in the crimes of these miscreants. You would not have
come to me to tell me all this--Oh! no; Providence has sent you hither
this day."

Holford took a seat, wondering how this extraordinary scene was to
terminate.

"Are you aware of the pursuits of those two men whom you have named--I
mean the full extent of the atrocity of their pursuits?" demanded
Richard, after a few moments' pause.

"I know that they are body-snatchers and burglars, sir," answered
Holford: "indeed it was a burglary of which they would have made me the
instrument; but, oh! sir--believe me, I am incapable of such a crime;
and the representations I have made to them have induced them to abandon
all idea of it."

"And you are not aware, then," continued Richard, "that they are more
than body-snatchers and burglars?"

"More, sir!" repeated Holford in a tone of unfeigned surprise: "Oh! no,
sir--how can they be more than that?"

"They are more--far more," rejoined Markham, with a shudder: "they are
murderers!"

"Murderers!" ejaculated Holford, starting from his chair with mingled
emotions of horror and alarm.

"Yes--murderers of the most diabolical and cold-blooded description,"
said Markham. "But it is too long a tale to tell you now. Let it suffice
for you to know that I was myself upon the point of becoming a victim to
that most infernal of all miscreants, the Resurrection Man; and I should
conceive that the other whom you named is in all respects as bad as he!"

"Murderers!" repeated Holford, his mental eyes fixed, by a horrible and
snake-like fascination, upon the fearful idea now suddenly engendered in
his imagination.

"Murderers," echoed Markham solemnly; "and through you must they be
surrendered up to justice!"

"Through me!" cried Holford.

"Yes--through you. If you be really imbued with such honourable feelings
as you ere now professed, you will not hesitate for one moment in
discharging this duty towards society."

"But it would be an odious act of treachery on my part," said Holford,
"let the men be what they may."

"If you manifest such a reluctance to rid the metropolis of two
murderers," cried Markham angrily, "I shall conceive that you are more
intimately connected with them than you choose to admit. But if you
imagine that these villains are more innocent than I describe them--if
you fancy that some motive prompts me to exaggerate their infamy, I will
tell you that no language can enhance their guilt--no vengeance be too
severe. Have you not heard that men have disappeared in a most strange
and mysterious manner within the last year, at the eastern end of the
metropolis,--disappeared without leaving a trace behind them,--men who
were not in that situation which hurries the despairing wretch on to
suicide? You must have heard of this! If not, learn the dismal fact now
from my lips! But the assassins--the dark and secret assassins of these
numerous victims, are the wretches whom we shall this night lodge in the
grasp of justice!"

"As you will, sir," said Holford, awe-inspired by the solemnity of
Markham's voice, and the impressiveness of his manner. "I was to meet
them at the _Dark-House_ at nine o'clock: do you take measures to secure
them."

"Most assuredly I will," returned Markham emphatically. "And when I
think of all that you have told me, my good lad," continued Richard, "I
am inclined to believe that you yourself would have been a victim to
those wretches."

"Me!" exclaimed Holford, horror-struck at the mere idea.

"Yes--such is now my conviction. They made an appointment with you at
the _Dark-House_, to give you a sum of money you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Foolish boy! Do such men pay their agents or accomplices who fail to
fulfil their designs, or who deceive them? do such men part with their
money so readily--that money which they encounter so many perils to
obtain? And that _Dark-House_--the place of your appointment,--that
_Dark-House_ is in the immediate neighbourhood of the head-quarters of
their crimes! Yes--there cannot be a doubt: you also were to be a
victim!"

"My God! what a fearful danger have I incurred!" ejaculated Holford,
shuddering from head to foot, as Markham thus addressed him; then, when
he called to mind the ferocity with which the Cracksman menaced him with
his knife, and the coaxing manner in which the Resurrection Man had
engaged him to form the appointment for the evening, he felt convinced
that the dread suspicion was a correct one.

"You say that the hour of meeting is fixed for nine?" cried Markham,
after a few minutes' reflection.

"Yes, sir; and now let me thank you with the most unfeigned sincerity
for having thus saved me from a dreadful death. Your kindness and
condescension have led to a lengthy conversation between us; and
accident has made me reveal to you those particulars which have led you
to form that conclusion relative to the fate destined for myself. You
must not imagine for a moment that I would league with such villains in
any of their diabolical plans. No, sir--I would sooner be led forth to
the place of execution this minute. Although I consented to do their
bidding in one respect, I repeat that I had mine own curiosity to
gratify--that is, my own inclinations to serve: but when they wished to
make me their instrument and tool in forwarding their unholy motives, I
shrank back in dismay. Oh! yes, sir--now I comprehend the entire infamy
of those men's characters: I see from what a fearful abyss I have
escaped."

There was again something so sincere and so natural in the manner and
emphasis of this young lad, that Markham surveyed him with sentiments of
mingled interest and surprise. Then all the thoughts of our hero were
directed towards the one grand object he had in view--that of delivering
a horde of ruffians over to justice.

"The gang may be more numerous than I imagine," said Markham; "indeed, I
know that there are a third man and hideous woman connected with those
two assassins whom you have already named. It will therefore be
advisable to lay such a trap that will lead to the capture of them all."

"Oh! by all means, sir," exclaimed Holford, enthusiastically: "I do not
wish to show them any mercy now!"

"We have no time to lose: it is now four o'clock," said Markham; "and we
must arrange the plan of proceeding with the police. You will accompany
me on this enterprise."

"Mr. Markham," returned Holford, respectfully but firmly, "I have no
objection to aid you in any shape or way in capturing these miscreants,
and rooting out their head quarters; but I must beg of you not to place
me in a position where I shall be questioned how I came to make this
appointment for to-night with those two wretches. It would compel me to
make a revelation of the manner in which I employed my time during the
last few days; and _that_--for certain reasons--I could not do!"

Markham appeared to reflect profoundly.

"I do not see how your presence can be dispensed with," he observed at
the expiration of some minutes. "In order to discover the exact spot
where the murderers dwell, it will be advisable for you to allow
yourself to be inveigled thither, and myself and the police would be
close behind you."

"Oh! never--never, sir!" cried Holford, turning deadly pale. "Were you
to miss us only for a moment--or were you to force an entrance a single
instant too late--my life would be sacrificed to those wretches."

"True--true," said Markham: "it would be too great a risk in a dark
night--in narrow streets, and with such desperadoes as those. No--I must
devise some other means to detect the den of this vile gang. But first
of all I must communicate with the police. You can remain here until my
return. To-morrow inquiry shall be made relative to your honesty and
industry; and, those points satisfactorily ascertained, I will take you
into my service, without asking any farther questions."

Holford expressed his gratitude for this kindness on the part of
Markham, and was then handed over to the care of Whittingham.

Having partaken of some hasty refreshment, and armed himself with a
brace of pistols, in preparation for his enterprise, Richard proceeded
with all possible speed into London.

CHAPTER LXV.

THE WRONGS AND CRIMES OF THE POOR.

The parlour of the _Dark-House_ was, as usual, filled with a very
tolerable sprinkle of queer-looking customers. One would have thought,
to look at their beards, that there was not a barber in the whole
district of the Tower Hamlets; and yet it appears to be a social
peculiarity, that the lower the neighbourhood, the more numerous the
shaving-shops. Amongst the very rich classes, nobles and gentlemen are
shaved by their valets: the males of the middle grade shave themselves;
and the men of the lower orders are shaved at barbers' shops. Hence the
immense number of party-coloured poles projecting over the pavement of
miserable and dirty streets, and the total absence of those signs in
wealthy districts.

The guests in the _Dark-House_ parlour formed about as pleasant an
assemblage of scamps as one could wish to behold. The establishment was
a notorious resort for thieves and persons of the worst character; and
no one who frequented it thought it worth while to shroud his real
occupation beneath an air of false modesty. The conversation in the
parlour, therefore, usually turned upon the tricks and exploits of the
thieves frequenting the place; and many entertaining autobiographical
sketches were in this way delivered. Women often constituted a portion
of the company in the parlour; and they were invariably the most noisy
and quarrelsome of all the guests. Whenever the landlord was compelled
to call in the police, to have a clearance of the house--a proceeding to
which he only had recourse when his guests were drunk and penniless, and
demanded supplies of liquor upon credit,--a woman was sure to be at the
bottom of the row; and a virago of Spitalfields would think no more of
smashing every window in the house, or dashing out the landlord's brains
with one of his own pewter-pots, than of tossing off a tumbler of raw
gin without winking.

On the evening of which we are writing there were several women in the
parlour of the _Dark-House_. These horrible females were the "blowens"
of the thieves frequenting the house, and the principal means of
disposing of the property stolen by their paramours. They usually ended
by betraying their lovers to the police, in fits of jealousy; and
yet--by some strange infatuation on the part of those lawless men--the
women who acted in this way speedily obtained fresh husbands upon the
morganatic system. For the most part, these females are disfigured by
intemperance; and their conversation is far more revolting than that of
the males. Oh! there is no barbarism in the whole world so truly
horrible and ferocious--so obscene and shameless--as that which is found
in the poor districts of London!

Alas! what a wretched mockery it is to hold grand meetings at Exeter
Hall, and proclaim, with all due pomp and ceremony, how many savages in
the far-off islands of the globe have been converted to Christianity,
when here--at home, under our very eyes--even London itself swarms with
infidels of a more dangerous character:--how detestable is it for
philanthropy to be exercised in clothing negroes or Red Men thousands of
miles distant, while our own poor are cold and naked at our very
doors:--how monstrously absurd to erect twelve new churches in Bethnal
Green, and withhold the education that would alone enable the poor to
appreciate the doctrines enunciated from that dozen of freshly-built
pulpits!

But to return to the parlour of the _Dark-House_.

In one corner sate the Resurrection Man and the Cracksman, each with a
smoking glass of gin-and-water before him. They mingled but little in
the conversation, contenting themselves with laughing an approval of any
thing good that fell upon their ears, and listening to the discourse
that took place around them.

"Now, come, tell us, Joe," said a woman with eyes like saucers, hair
like a bundle of tow, and teeth like dominoes, and addressing herself to
a man who was dressed like a coal-heaver,--"tell us, Joe, how you come
to be a prig?"

"Ah! do, Joe--there's a good feller," echoed a dozen voices, male and
female.

"Lor' it's simple enough," cried the man thus appealed to: "every poor
devil must become a thief in time."

"That's what you say, Tony," whispered the Cracksman to the Resurrection
Man.

"Of course he must," continued the coal-heaver; "more partickler them as
follows my old trade--for though I've got on the togs of a whipper, I
ain't one no longer. The dress is convenient--that's all."

"The Blue-bottles don't twig--eh?" cried the woman with the domino
teeth.

"That's it: but you asked me how I come to be a prig--I'll tell you. My
father was a coal-whipper, and had three sons. He brought us all up to
be coal-whippers also. My eldest brother was drownded in the pool one
night when he was drunk, after only drinking about two pots of the
publicans' beer: my other brother died of hunger in Cold-Bath Fields
prison, where he was sent for three months for taking home a bit of coal
one night to his family when he couldn't get his wages paid him by the
publican that hired the gang in which he worked. My father died when he
was forty--and any one to have seen him would have fancied he was
sixty-five at least--so broke down was he with hard work and drinking.
But no coal-whipper lives to an old age: they all die off at about
forty--old men in the wery prime of life."

"And why's that?" demanded the large-toothed lady.

"Why not?" repeated the man. "Because a coal-whipper isn't a human
being--or if he is, he isn't treated as such: and so I've always thought
he must be different from the rest of the world."

"How isn't he treated like any one else?"

"In the first place, he doesn't get paid for his labour in a proper way.
Wapping swarms with low public-houses, the landlords of which act as
middle-men between the owners of the colliers and the men that's hired
to unload 'em. A coal-whipper can't get employment direct from the
captain of the collier: the working of the collier is farmed by them
landlords I speak of; and the whipper must apply at their houses. Those
whippers as drinks the most always gets employment first; and whether a
whipper chooses to drink beer or not, it's always sent three times a-day
on board the colliers for the gangs. And, my eye! what stuff it is!
Often and often have we throwed it away, 'cos we could'nt possibly drink
it--and it must be queer liquor that a coal-whipper won't drink!"

"I should think so too. But go on."

"Well, I used to earn from fifteen to eighteen shillings a-week; and out
of that, eight was always stopped for the beer; and if I didn't spend
another or two on Saturday night when I received the balance, the
landlord set me down as a stingy feller and put a cross agin my name in
his book."

"What was that for?"

"Why, not to give me any more work till he was either forced to do so
for want of hands, or I made it up with him by standing a crown bowl of
punch. So what with one thing and another, I had to keep myself, my
wife, and three children, on about seven or eight shillings
a-week--after working from light to dark."

"And now your wife and children is better purvided for?" said the woman
with the huge teeth.

"Yes--indeed! in the workus," answered the man, sharply. "So now you see
what a coal-whipper's life is. He can't be a sober man if he wishes
to--because he must pay for a certain quantity of drink; and so of
course he won't throw it away, unless it's so bad he can't keep it on
his stomach."

"And was that often the case?"

"Often and often. Well--he can't be a saving man, because he has no
chance of getting his wages under his own management. He is the
publican's slave--the publican's tool and instrument. Negro slavery is
nothing to it. No tyranny is equal to the tyranny of them publicans."

"And why isn't the plan altered?"

"Ah! why? What do the owners of the colliers, or the people that the
cargo's consigned to, care about the poor devils that unload? The
publicans takes the unloading on contract, and employs the whippers in
such away as to get an enormous profit. Talk of appealing to the
owners--what do they care? There has been meetings got up to change the
system--and what's the consekvence? Why, them whippers as attended them
became marked men, never got no more employment, and drownded themselves
in despair, or turned prigs like me."

"Ah! that's better than suicide."

"Well--I don't know, now! But them meetings as I was a-speaking of, got
up deputations to the Court of Aldermen, and the matter was referred to
the Coal and Corn Committee--and there was, as usual, a great talk, but
nothink done. Then an application was made to some Minister--I don't
know which; and he sent back a letter with a seal as big as a
crown-piece, just to say that he'd received the application, and would
give it his earliest attention. Some time passed away, and no more
notice was ever taken of it in that quarter; and so, I s'pose, a
Minister's earliest attention means ten or a dozen years."

"What a shame to treat people so."

"It's only the poor that's treated so. And now I think I have said
enough to show why I turned prig, like a many more whippers from the
port of London. There isn't a more degraded, oppressed, and brutalized
set of men in the world than the whippers. They are born with examples
of drunken fathers afore their eyes; and drunken fathers makes drunken
mothers; and drunken parents makes sons turn out thieves, and daughters
prostitutes;--and that's the existence of the coal-whippers of Wapping.
It ain't their fault: they haven't edication and self-command to refuse
the drink that's forced upon them, and that they must pay for;--and
their sons and daughters shouldn't be blamed for turning out bad. How
can they help it? And yet one reads in the papers that the upper classes
is always a-crying out about the dreadful immorality of the poor!"

"The laws--the laws, you see, Tony," whispered the Cracksman to his
companion.

"Of course," answered the Resurrection Man. "Here we are, in this room,
upwards of twenty thieves and prostitutes: I'll be bound to say that the
laws and the state of society made eighteen of them what they are."

"Nobody knows the miseries of a coal-whipper's life," continued the
orator of the evening, "but him that's been in it his-self. He is always
dirty--always lurking about public-houses when not at work--always ready
to drink--always in debt--and always dissatisfied with his own way of
living, which isn't, however, his fault. There's no hope for
coal-whippers or their families. The sons that don't turn out thieves
must lead the same terrible life of cart-horse labour and constant
drinking, with the certainty of dying old men at forty;--and the
daughters that don't turn out prostitutes marry whippers, and draw down
upon their heads all the horrors and sorrows of the life I have been
describing."

"Well--I never knowed all this before!"

"No--and there's a deal of misery of each kind in London that isn't
known to them as dwells in the other kinds of wretchedness: and if these
things gets represented in Parliament, the cry is, '_Oh! the people's
always complaining; they're never satisfied_.'"

"Well, you speak of each person knowing his own species of misery, and
being ignorant of the nature of the misery next door," said a young and
somewhat prepossessing woman, but upon whose face intemperance and
licentiousness had made sad havoc; "all I can say is, that people see
girls like us laughing and joking always in public--but they little know
how we weep and moan in private."

"Drink gin then, as I do," cried the woman with the large teeth.

"Ah! _you_ know well enough," continued the young female who had
previously spoken, "that we _do_ drink a great deal too much of that! My
father used to sell _jiggered gin_ in George Yard, Whitechapel."

"And what the devil is jiggered gin?" demanded one of the male guests.

"It's made from molasses, beer, and vitriol. Lor', every one knows what
jiggered gin is. Three wine glasses of it will make the strongest man
mad drunk. I'll tell you one thing," continued the young woman, "which
you do not seem to know--and that is, that the very, very poor people
who are driven almost to despair and suicide by their sorrows, are glad
to drink this jiggered gin, which is all that they can afford. For three
halfpence they may have enough to send them raving; and then what do
they think or care about their miseries?"

"Ah! very true," said the coal whipper. "I've heard of this before."

"Well--my father sold that horrid stuff," resumed the young woman; "and
though he was constantly getting into trouble for it, he didn't mind;
but the moment he came out of prison, he took to his old trade again. I
was his only child; and my mother died when I was about nine years old.
She was always drunk with the jiggered gin; and one day she fell into
the fire and was burnt to death. I had no one then who cared any thing
for me, but used to run about in the streets with all the boys in the
neighbourhood. My father took in lodgers; and sixteen or seventeen of
us, boys and girls all huddled together, used to sleep in one room not
near so big as this. There was fifteen lodging houses of the same kind
in George Yard at that time; and it was supposed that about two hundred
and seventy-five persons need to sleep in those houses every night, male
and female lodgers all pigging together. Every sheet, blanket, and
bolster, in my father's house was marked with STOP THIEF, in large
letters. Well--at eleven years old I went upon the town; and if I didn't
bring home so much money every Saturday night to my father, I used to be
well thrashed with a rope's end on my bare back."

"Serve you right too, a pretty girl like you."

"Ah! you may joke about it--but it was no joke to me! I would gladly
have done anything in an honest way to get my livelihood--"

"Like me, when I was young," whispered the Resurrection Man to his
companion.

"Exactly. Let's hear what the gal has got to say for herself," returned
the Cracksman; "the lush has made her sentimental;--she'll soon be
crying drunk."

"But I was doomed, it seemed," continued the young woman, "to live in
this horrible manner. When I was thirteen or fourteen my father died,
and I was then left to shift for myself. I moved down into Wapping, and
frequented the long-rooms belonging to the public-houses there. I was
then pretty well off; because the sailors that went to these places
always had plenty of money and was very generous. But I was one night
suspected of hocussing and robbing a sailor, and--though if I was on my
death-bed I could swear that I never had any hand in the affair at
all--I was so blown upon that I was forced to shift my quarters. So I
went to a _dress-house_ in Ada Street, Hackney Road. All the
remuneration I received there was board and lodging; and I was actually
a slave to the old woman that kept it. I was forced to walk the streets
at night with a little girl following me to see that I did not run away;
and all the money I received I was forced to give up to the old woman.
While I was there, several other girls were turned out of doors, and
left to die in ditches or on dunghills, because they were no longer
serviceable. All this frightened me. And then I was so ill-used, and
more than half starved. I was forced to turn out in all weathers--wet or
dry--hot or cold--well or ill. Sometimes I have hardly been able to drag
myself out of bed with sickness and fatigue--but, no matter, out I must
go--the rain perhaps pouring in torrents, or the roads knee-deep in
snow--and nothing but a thin cotton gown to wear! Winter and summer,
always flaunting dresses--yellow, green, and red! Wet or dry, always
silk stockings and thin shoes! Cold or warm, always short skirts and a
low body, with strict orders not to fasten the miserable scanty shawl
over the bosom! And then the little girl that followed me about was a
spy with wits as sharp as needles. Impossible to deceive her! At length
I grew completely tired of this kind of life; and so I gave the little
spy the slip one fine evening. I was then sixteen, and I came back to
this neighbourhood. But one day I met the old woman who kept the
dress-house, and she gave me in charge for stealing wearing apparel--the
clothes I had on my back when I ran away from her!"

"Always the police--the police--the police, when the poor and miserable
are concerned," whispered the Resurrection Man to the Cracksman.

"But did the inspector take the charge?" demanded the coal-heaver.

"He not only took the charge," answered the unfortunate girl, "but the
magistrate next morning committed me for trial, although I proved to him
that the clothes were bought with the wages of my own prostitution!
Well, I was tried at the Central Criminal Court--"

"And of course acquitted?"

"No--found _Guilty_----"

"What--by an English jury?"

"I can show you the newspaper--I have kept the report of the trial ever
since."

"Then, by G--d, things are a thousand times worse than I thought they
was!" ejaculated the coal-whipper, striking his clenched fist violently
upon the table at which he was seated.

"But the jury recommended me to mercy," continued the unfortunate young
woman, "and so the Recorder only sentenced me to twenty-one days'
imprisonment. His lordship also read me a long lecture about the errors
of my ways, and advised me to enter upon a new course of life; but he
did not offer to give me a character, nor did he tell me how I was to
obtain honest employment without one."

"That's the way with them beaks," cried one of the male inmates of the
parlour: "they can talk for an hour; but supposing you'd said to the
Recorder, '_My Lord, will your wife take me into her service as
scullery-girl?_' he would have stared in astonishment at your
imperence."

"When I got out of prison," resumed the girl who was thus sketching the
adventures of her wretched life, "I went into Great Titchfield Street.
My new abode was a dress-house kept by French people. Every year the
husband went over to France, and returned with a famous supply of French
girls, and in the mean time his wife decoyed young English women up from
the country, under pretence of obtaining situations as nursery-governesses
and lady's-maids for them. Many of these poor creatures were the
daughters of clergymen and half-pay officers in the marines. The moment
a new supply was obtained by these means, circulars was sent round to
all the persons that was in the habit of using the house. Different
sums, from twenty to a hundred pounds--"

"Ah! I understand," said the coal-whipper. "But did you ever hear say
how many unfortunate gals there was in London?"

"Eighty thousand. From Titchfield Street I went into the Almonry,
Westminster. The houses there are all occupied by _fences_, prigs, and
gals of the town."

"And the parsons of Westminster Abbey, who is the landlords of the
houses, does nothink to put 'em down," said the coal-whipper.

"Not a bit," echoed the young woman, with a laugh. "We had capital fun
in the house where I lived--dog-fighting, badger-baiting, and drinking
all day long. The police never visits the Almonry--"

"In course not, 'cos it's the property of the parsons. They wouldn't be
so rude."

This coarse jest was received with a shout of laughter; and the health
of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster was drunk amidst uproarious
applause, by the thieves and loose women assembled in the _Dark-House_
parlour.[75]

"Well, go on, my dear," said the coal-whipper, when order was somewhat
restored.

"I never was in a sentimental humour before to-night--not for many, many
years," resumed the young woman; "and I don't know what's making me talk
as I am now."

"'Cos you haven't had enough gin, my dear," interrupted a coarse-looking
fellow, winking to his companions.

Scarcely was the laughter promoted by this sally beginning to subside,
when a short, thick-set, middle-aged man, enveloped in a huge
great-coat, with most capacious pockets at the sides, entered the
parlour, took his seat near the door, and called for a glass of hot
gin-and-water.

CHAPTER LXVI.

THE RESULT OF MARKHAM'S ENTERPRISE.

The reader at all acquainted with German literature may probably
remember some of those old tales of demonology and witchcraft, in which
assemblies of jovial revellers are frequently dismayed and overawed by
the sudden entrance of some mysterious stranger--perhaps a knight in
black armour, with his vizor closed, or a monk with his cowl drawn over
his countenance. If the recollection of such an episode in the sphere of
romance recur to the reader's mind, he will have no difficulty in
comprehending us when we state that the presence of the short,
thick-set, middle-aged stranger caused an immediate damp to fall upon
the spirits of the company in the _Dark-House_ parlour.

The stranger seemed to take no notice of any one present, but drank his
grog, lighted his cigar, and settled himself in his seat, apparently
with the view of making himself very comfortable.

Still there was something sinister and mysterious about this man, which
did not exactly please the other inmates of the room; and as we cannot
suppose that the consciences of these persons were over pure, the least
appearance of ambiguity to them was an instantaneous omen of danger.
Like the dog that scents the corpse of the murdered victim, even when
buried deep in the earth, those wretches possessed an instinct
marvellously sensitive and acute in perceiving the approach or presence
of peril.

And yet, to a common beholder, there was nothing very remarkable about
that stranger. He was a plain-looking, quiet, shabbily dressed person,
and one who seemed anxious to smoke his cigar in peace, and neither
speak nor be spoken to.

Good reader--it was the reserve of this man,--his staid and serious
demeanour--his tranquil countenance--and his exclusive manner
altogether, that created the unpleasant impression we have described.
Had he entered the room with a swagger, banged the door behind him,
sworn at the waiter, or nodded to one single individual present, he
would have produced no embarrassing sensation whatever. But he was
unknown:--what, then, could he do there, where all were well known to
each other?

However, he continued to smoke, with his eyes intently fixed upon the
blueish wreaths that ascended slowly and fantastically from the end of
his cigar; and for five minutes after his entrance not a word was
spoken.

At length the coal-whipper broke silence.

"Well, my dear," he said, addressing himself to the unfortunate girl who
had already narrated a portion of her adventures, "you haven't done your
story yet."

"Oh! I do not feel in the humour to go on with it to-night," she
exclaimed, glancing uneasily towards the stranger. "Indeed, I
recollect--I have an appointment--close by--"

She hesitated; then, apparently mustering up her courage, cried
"Good-night, all," and left the room.

"Who the deuce is that feller, Tony?" demanded the Cracksman, in a
whisper, of his companion. "I can't say I like his appearance at all."

"Oh! nonsense," answered the Resurrection Man: "he is some quiet chap
that doesn't like to smoke and talk at the same time."

"But don't it seem as how he'd throwed a damp on the whole party?"
continued the Cracksman, in the same subdued tone.

"Do you take me for a child that's frightened at a shadow?" said the
Resurrection Man savagely. "I suppose you're afraid that this young
Holford will play us false. Why--what could he do to us? Anything he
revealed would only implicate himself. He knows nothing about our games
up by the Bird-cage Walk there."

"I forgot _that_;--no more he doesn't," cried the Cracksman. "There's
nobody can do us any harm, that I know on."

"One--and one only," answered the Resurrection Man, sinking his already
subdued tone to the lowest possible whisper,--"one only, I say, can
injure us; and he will not dare to do it!"

"Who the devil do you mean?" demanded the Cracksman.

"I mean the only man that ever escaped out of the crib up by the walk
after he had received a blow from my stick," answered the Resurrection
Man.

"You don't mean to say, Tony," whispered the Cracksman, his countenance
giving the most unequivocal signs of alarm, "that there's a breathing
soul which ever went in the door of that crib an intended wictim, and
come out alive agin!"

"Never do you mind now. We shall make all the people stare at us if we
go on whispering in this way. Supposing any one _did_ mean to nose upon
us haven't we got our barkers in our pocket?"

"Ah! Tony," said the Cracksman, in whose mind these words of his
companion seemed to arouse a sudden and most disagreeable
idea,--"talking about _nosing_ makes me remember someot that I was told
a few days ago up in Rat's Castle in the Rookery."

"And what was that?" asked the Resurrection Man, surveying his friend
with his serpent-like eyes in a manner that made him actually quail
beneath the glance.

"What was it?" repeated the Cracksman, who appeared to hesitate whether
he should proceed, or not: "why--I heard a magsman say that you nosed
upon poor Crankey Jem, and that was the reason he got lagged and you was
acquitted three year ago at the Old Bailey."

"And what did you say to that?" demanded the Resurrection Man, looking
from beneath his bushy brows at the Cracksman, as the ghole in eastern
mythology may be supposed to gaze on the countenance of him whom he
marks for his victim.

"What did I say?" answered the Cracksman in a hoarse whisper: "why--I
knocked the fellow down to be sure."

"And you did what you ought to do, and what I should have done if any
one had told me _that_ of you," said the Resurrection Man in a tone of
the most perfect composure.

While this conversation took place, hurriedly and in whispers, the
mysterious stranger continued to smoke his cigar without once glancing
around him; and the other inmates of the _Dark-House_ parlour,
recovering a little from their panic at the entrance of that individual,
made a faint attempt to renew the discourse.

But although the eyes of the stranger were apparently occupied in
watching the wreaths of smoke, as they curled upwards to the ceiling,
they were in reality intent upon the parlour window, the lower part of
which alone was darkened by the sliding shutter that lifted up and down.
There was a bright lamp over the front door of the public-house; and
thus the heads of all the passengers in the street might be descried, as
they passed the window, by the inmates of the parlour.

"I say, Ben," exclaimed one reveller to another, "have you heerd that
they're a goin' to lay out a park up by Bonner's Road and Hackney Wick?"

"Yes--the Wictoria Park," was the reply. "On'y fancy giving them poor
devils of Spitalfields weavers a park to walk in instead o' filling
their bellies. But I 'spose they'll make a preshus deep pond in it."

"What for?" demanded the first speaker.

"Why--for the poor creturs to drown theirselves in, to be sure."

At this moment the countenance of a man in the street peered for a
single instant over the shutter, and was then immediately withdrawn; but
not before a significant glance had been exchanged with the stranger
sitting in the neighbourhood of the door.

All this, however, remained entirely unnoticed by the male and female
revellers in the parlour.

"Well, it's gone nine," whispered the Cracksman to his companion, "and
this fellow Holford don't come. It's my opinion he ain't a-going to."

"We'll give him half an hour's grace," returned the Resurrection Man.
"The young fool is hard up, and won't let the hope of five couters slip
through his brain quite so easy."

"Half an hour's grace, as you say, Tony," whispered the Cracksman; "and
then if he don't come: we'll be off--eh?"

"Oh! just as you like," growled the Resurrection Man. "You seem quite
chicken-hearted to-night, Tom."

"I don't know how it is," answered the Cracksman; "but I've got a
persentiment--as they calls it--of evil. The sight of that there feller
there----" and he nodded towards the stranger.

"Humbug!" interrupted the Resurrection Man, "you haven't had grog
enough--that's it."

He accordingly ordered the waiter to supply fresh tumblers of hot
liquor; and the next half hour slipped away rapidly enough; but no Henry
Holford made his appearance.

At a quarter to ten the two villains rose, and, having settled their
score, departed.

Scarcely had the parlour door closed behind them, when the short
thick-set stranger also retreated precipitately from the room.

Disappointed and in an ill-humour, the Resurrection Man and the
Cracksman hurried away from the _Dark-House_ towards the den situate in
the immediate vicinity of the Bird-cage Walk.

The streets were ankle-deep in mud: a thin mizzling rain was falling;
and neither moon nor stars appeared upon the dark and murky field of
heaven.

The two men walked one a little in advance of the other, until they
reached the top of Brick Lane, where they separated for the purpose of
proceeding by different routes towards the game point--a precaution they
invariably adopted after quitting any public place in each other's
company.

But so well were the arrangements of the police concocted, that while
the Resurrection Man continued his way along Tyssen Street, and the
Cracksman turned to the right in Church Street until he reached Samuel
Street, up which he proceeded, an active officer followed each: while in
the neighbourhood of Virginia Street and the Bird-cage Walk numerous
policemen were concealed in dark alleys, lone courts, and obscure nooks,
ready to hasten to any point whence the spring of rattles might
presently emanate.

Also concealed in a convenient hiding-place, and anxiously awaiting the
result of the various combinations effected to discover the den of the
murderers, Richard Markham was prepared to aid in the operations of the
night.

Meantime, the Resurrection Man pursued one route, and the Cracksman
another, both converging towards the same point; but neither individual
suspected that danger was on every side! They advanced as confidently as
the flies that work their way amidst the tangled web of the spider.

At length the Resurrection Man reached his house; and almost at the same
moment the other ruffian arrived at the door.

"All right, Tom."

"All right, Tony."

And the Resurrection Man opened the door, by simply pressing his foot
forcibly against it in a peculiar manner.

He entered the passage, followed by the Cracksman, which latter
individual turned to close the door, when it was burst wide open and
half a dozen policemen rushed into the house.

"Damnation!" cried the Resurrection Man; "we are sold!"--and, darting
down the passage, he rushed into the little back room, the door of which
he succeeded in closing and fastening against the officers.

But the Cracksman had fallen into the hands of the police, and was
immediately secured. Rattles were sprung; and the sudden and unexpected
din, breaking upon the solemn silence of the place and hour, startled
the poor and the guilty in their wretched abodes.

"Break open the door there!" cried the serjeant who commanded the
police, and who was no other than the mysterious stranger of the
_Dark-House_ parlour: "break open that door--and two of you run up
stairs this moment!"

As he spoke, a strong light shone from the top of the staircase. The
officers cast their eyes in that direction, and beheld a hideous old
woman scowling down upon them. In her hand she carried a candle, the
light of which was thrown forward in a vivid flood by the reflection of
a huge bright tin shade.

This horrible old woman was the Mummy.

Already were two of the officers half-way up the staircase,--already was
the door of the back room on the ground floor yielding to the strength
of a constable,--already were Richard Markham and several officers
hurrying down the street towards the spot, obedient to the signal
conveyed by the springing of the rattles,--when a terrific explosion
took place.

"Good God!" ejaculated Markham: "what can that mean?"

"There--there!" cried a policeman near him: "it is all over with the
serjeant and my poor comrades!"

Immediately after the explosion, and while Markham and the officer were
yet speaking, a bright column of fire shot up into the air:--millions
and millions of sparks, glistening vividly, showered down upon the scene
of havoc;--for a moment--a single moment--the very heavens seemed on
fire;--then all was black--and silent--and doubly sombre.

The den of the assassins had ceased to exist: it had been destroyed by
gunpowder.

The blackened remains and dismembered relics of mortality were
discovered on the following morning amongst the ruins, or in the
immediate neighbourhood;--but it was impossible to ascertain how many
persons had perished on this dread occasion.

CHAPTER LXVII.

SCENES IN FASHIONABLE LIFE.

Two months elapsed from the date of the preceding event.

It was now the commencement of March; and bleak winds had succeeded the
hoary snows of winter.

The scene changes to the house of Sir Rupert Harborough, in Tavistock
Square.

It was about one o'clock in the afternoon. The baronet was pacing the
drawing-room with uneven steps, while Lady Cecilia lounged upon the
sofa, turning over the pages of a new novel.

"Now this is most provoking, Cecilia," exclaimed the baronet: "I never
was so much in want of money in my life; and you refuse to adopt the
only means which----"

"Yes, Sir Rupert," interrupted the lady impatiently; "I refuse to give
you my diamonds to pledge again--and all your arguments shall never
persuade me to do so."

"Your heart is too good, Cecilia----"

"Oh! yes--you may try what coaxing will do; but I can assure you that I
am proof against both honied and bitter words. Neither will serve your
turn now."

"And yet, somehow or another, you _have_ the command of money, Cecilia,"
resumed the baronet, after a pause. "You paid all the tradesmen's bills
and servants' wages about two months ago: you found out--though God only
knows how--that Greenwood had the duplicate of your diamonds;--you
redeemed the ticket from him, and the jewels themselves from V----'s;
and from that moment you have never seemed embarrassed for a five-pound
note."

"All _that_ is perfectly true, Sir Rupert," said Lady Cecilia, blushing
slightly, and yet smiling archly,--and never did she seem more beautiful
than when the glow of shame thus mantled her cheek and poured flood of
light into those eyes that were so expressive of a voluptuous and
sensual nature.

"Well, then," continued the baronet, "if you can thus obtain supplies
for yourself, surely you can do something in the same way for me."

"I have no ready money at present," said Lady Cecilia; "and I have
determined not to part with my jewels. There!"

"Perhaps you think that I am fool enough to be the dupe of your
miserable and flimsy artifices, Cecilia?" cried the baronet impatiently:
"but I can tell you that I have seen through them all along."

"You!" ejaculated the lady, starting uneasily, while her heart
palpitated violently, and she felt that her cheeks were crimson.

"Yes--I, Lady Cecilia," answered the baronet. "I am not quite such a
fool as you take me for."

"My God, Sir Rupert! what--how--who-----" stammered the guilty wife, a
cold tremor pervading every limb, although her cheeks appeared to be on
fire.

"There! you see that all my suspicions are confirmed," cried the
baronet; "your confusion proves it."

"You cannot say that--that--I have ever given you any cause, Sir
Rupert----"

"What? to doubt your word? Oh! no--I can't say that you are in the habit
of telling falsehoods generally; but----"

"Sir Rupert!"

"Nay--I will speak out! The fact is, you pretend to have quarrelled with
Lady Tremordyn; and it is all nonsense. Your mother supplies you with as
much money as you require--and that is the secret!"

"Oh! Sir Rupert--Sir Rupert!" exclaimed Lady Cecilia, suddenly relieved
from a most painful state of apprehension, and now comprehending the
error under which he was labouring.

"You cannot deny what I affirm, Cecilia. And now that I bethink me, it
is most probable that Greenwood himself told Lord Tremordyn (with whom
he was intimate at that time, although they have since quarrelled, God
only knows what about) of my having placed the duplicate of the diamonds
in his hands, and so your father arranged that matter with Greenwood. It
is a gross system of duplicity, Cecilia--a gross system; a pretended
quarrel merely to prevent me from visiting at the house of my
father-in-law. But, by God! I will stand it no longer!"

"What will you do, then?" demanded Lady Cecilia, ironically.

"What will I do? I will go straight off to Lord and Lady Tremordyn, and
tell them my mind."

"And Lord and Lady Tremordyn will tell you theirs in return."

"And what can they say, madam, against me?"

"Nay--Sir Rupert, rather ask what they can say for you."

"Oh! you wish to irritate me, madam--you are anxious to quarrel with
me," cried the baronet.--"Well--be it so! As for your father and mother,
I will tell them that they do not act honourably, nor even prudently,
in allowing their son-in-law to live by his wits and be compelled to
raise money where he can."

"And they will tell you in reply, that you did not act honourably nor
prudently to squander the large sum they gave you when you married their
daughter."

"The devil they will!" exclaimed the baronet. "Then, in that case, I
shall remind them of the consideration for which the large sum you
allude to was given."

"Monster--coward!" cried Lady Cecilia: "do you dare to throw in my teeth
the weakness of which I was guilty through excess of love for you?"

"I am sure you need not be so fastidious, Cecilia. To talk of love now,
between a man of the world like me and a woman of the world like you, is
an absurdity;--and as for the little weakness of which you speak, I
repaired it."

"Yes," said the lady, bitterly. "When you saw me kneeling in despair at
your feet--and when my mother implored you to save her daughter's
honour, you turned a deaf ear to our entreaties--you scorned our
prayers: but when my father offered a golden argument----"

"Lady Cecilia--silence, I command you!"

"When he offered a golden argument, I say," continued the lady, with
withering scorn, "--when he produced his cheque-book, Sir Rupert
Harborough pretended to yield to my entreaties; and as he raised me from
the ground--condescendingly raised me--me, the daughter of a peer--with
one hand,--with the other he clutched the bribe! Ah! Sir Rupert--you
spoilt a good heart--you trampled a confiding disposition in the
dust--when you would not allow yourself to be purchased by my love, but
still consented to sell yourself to me for my father's gold! Oh! it was
the vile instance of a man prostituting himself for gain, as poor weak
woman has so often been doomed to do!"

"Lady Cecilia--I am astonished--I am amazed at the terms in which you
allow yourself to address me!" said Sir Rupert Harborough, humiliated
and put to shame by these words of keenly cutting satire.

"And now," continued the indignant lady,--"now you solicit me to ruin
myself for you--to part with my very ornaments to supply your
extravagances,--you, who had no pity upon my tears, no feeling for my
anguish, no respect for my honour! No, Sir Rupert Harborough: I have
assisted you once--assisted you twice--assisted you thrice--assisted you
a hundred times already; and what return have you made me? When you are
penniless, you remain at home: when you are in the possession of funds,
you remain absent for weeks and weeks together. You may love me no
longer, it is true;--and, with regard to myself, I confess that your
conduct has long--long ago destroyed all the romance of affection in my
bosom. Still a woman cannot endure neglect--at least I thought so a few
months ago;--but now--_now,_" she added emphatically, as her thoughts
wandered to Greenwood, "I am indifferent alike as to your attention or
your neglect!"

"At least, Lady Cecilia, you are candid and explicit," said Sir Rupert,
biting his lips. "But perhaps you have something more to observe."

"No--nothing," answered the lady coldly; and, with these words, she rose
and left the room.

Not many minutes had elapsed since the termination of this "scene," when
Mr. Chichester was announced.

"Well, what news with the old man?" demanded the baronet hastily.

"My father will not advance me another shilling until June," answered
Chichester, throwing himself upon the sofa; "and as for your bill--he
won't look at it. Any thing good with you?"

"Nothing. Lady Cecilia positively refuses to part with the jewels
again," said the baronet, stamping his foot with rage.

"And can't you----"

"Can't I what?"

"Can't you help yourself to them in spite of her?" demanded Chichester.

"Impossible!" returned Harborough. "She keeps them under lock and key in
her own room; and the door of that room she always locks when she goes
out."

"How provoking! If we only had some ready money at this moment,"
observed Chichester, "we might make a little fortune."

"Yes--town is full--and such opportunities as we might have! By Jove, we
_must_ raise the wine somewhere."

"You do not think that Greenwood----"

"Oh! no--not for a moment!" cried the baronet, turning very pale as the
idea of the forged acceptance of Lord Tremordyn, which would be due in
another month, flashed across his mind: "no--I cannot apply to Greenwood
for a shilling."

"And after all the pains I have taken in perfecting you in the new
dodges with the cards and dice, ready for this season," said Mr.
Chichester, in a most lachrymose tone; then, taking a small parcel from
his pocket, he continued, "Here are the implements we want, too: every
thing prepared--except the money."

"Ah!" exclaimed the baronet, "you have got the things, then, at last?"

"Yes," returned Chichester, opening the parcel and displaying its
contents upon the table. "Here are the _scratched dice,_ you see. These
must be used upon a bare table, because it is necessary to judge by the
sound of the dice in the box whether they are on the scratched side or
not. You understand that a hole has been drilled in the centre pip of
the five in this die, and in the ace of the other; a piece of ebony is
then inserted, with a very small portion projecting. These dice cannot,
therefore, fall perfectly flat, when the five side of the one and the
ace of the other are underneath on the table; and it is very easy for
the thrower just to move the box the least thing before he lifts it, to
that the sound may tell him whether the scratched side is down or not.
But you are to recollect that a man must be very drunk when you can use
them with any degree of safety."

"I should think so, indeed," said Sir Rupert.

"I can assure you that no implements of our craft are, on certain
occasions, more destructive than these," observed Chichester.

"And what is the use of these slight scratches upon the dice?"

"To assist the eye in manipulating them. But here," continued
Chichester, holding up a dice-box, and surveying it with a species of
paternal admiration,--"here is a famous antidote to fair dice. Don't
you see that when fair dice are used, you must introduce an unfair box.
Many a greenhorn may have heard of loaded dice, and so on; but very few
know that there is such a thing as the _Doctor Dice-box_. Honour to the
man, say I, who invented it. If you judge by the outside of this box, it
is a very fair-looking one; but just put your finger into it, and you
will feel that no less than three-quarters of the inside are filled up,
so that there is now only just space enough left in the middle for the
dice to fit in. Towards the top the sides grow larger and smoother. The
dice, you see, rattle by rising up and down, when shaken briskly, but do
not change their position. All that you have to do is to put them in, in
the first instance, with a view to the way in which you want them to
come up."

"So that if you want to throw a six and a five, put the dice into the
box with the ace and the two uppermost," said the baronet.

"Precisely," answered Chichester. "A fair box, you know as well as I do,
has one or more rims inside, against which the dice must turn in coming
out."

"By the bye," said the baronet, "what is the _Gradus_, Chichester? you
promised to show me a great many times, and have forgotten it; but now
that we are upon the subject, you may as well enlighten me."

"Certainly, my dear fellow," returned this very complacent Mentor; then,
taking up a pack of cards, he said, "nothing is more easy than the
_Gradus,_ or _Step_. It is often much safer than _Bridging_, too.
_Bridging_ is known by every snob about town who pretends to set up for
a _Greek_. All that you have to do for the _Gradus_ is to let any
particular card you fancy project a little in this way, so as to make
sure that your opponent will turn it up, at whist or ecarté, as the case
may be."

"Excellent! I like the plan better than any other you ever yet showed me
for effecting the same object."

"_Palming_ may sometimes be done successfully," continued Chichester:
"but you must have the small French cards to do it. There--all that
there is to do is to secrete a particular card under the palm and
partially up the sleeve till it is required. When your opponent is well
primed, you can easily introduce _a fifth king_, or _fifth ace_, in this
way. There is a great deal of art, too, in shuffling, or _Weaving_. At
ecarté or whist, always watch which tricks taken up have the best cards;
then, when you take up all the cards to shuffle them again, _weave_ in
the good tricks to suit your purposes."

"I heard a gentleman say the other night," observed the baronet, "that
he had been most gloriously fleeced by a fellow who used _pricked
cards_."

"Ah! they are capital weapons," exclaimed Chichester. "Just lay the high
cards flat on their backs, and then prick them with a very fine needle,
so as to raise the slightest possible pimple in the world upon the backs
down in one of the corners; but mind, the cards are not to be punctured
quite through. The fellow who told me how to do this dodge, used some
chemical preparation to the ball of his thumb, which made that part
almost raw, and consequently so very sensitive that he could feel the
smallest possible pimple on the card with the greatest ease."

"And what have you got there?" demanded Sir Rupert, pointing to a pack
of cards which Chichester had just taken from his parcel.

"These are _Reflectors_," replied the Mentor. "They are French cards,
you perceive, and are only manufactured in France. They cost two guineas
a pack; but then--only think of their utility! Look at the backs of
these cards: instead of being plain, they are figured. Now this to a
common observer is nothing, most of the French cards being, you know,
variegated with flowers or other designs at the back. But to the
initiated, the lines upon these cards are every thing. Mark how they
run. All the high cards have semicircles in the corners, while all the
low cards have the ends of the lines meeting in the corners. Then, by a
more minute study still of these cards, it is easy to know kings,
queens, knaves, and aces, by the manner in which the lines run upon the
back. I hope these weapons are dangerous enough for you."

"They are decidedly the most efficient I have yet seen," answered the
baronet. "I think we now know all the mysteries of the gaming world;
and, considering how many _flats_ there are in London and the watering
places, it would be astonishing indeed if we could not pick up a
handsome living."

"Of course it would," said Mr. Chichester. "The mania for play is most
extraordinary. The moment a young man enters upon life, he fancies that
it is very fine to frequent gambling-houses or lose his loose gold at
private play: indeed he imagines that he cannot be a _man of the world_
without it. There is our advantage. That anxiety to be looked upon as _a
fine dashing fellow_ is the real cause of the immense increase of gaming
propensities. Young men do not begin to play in the first instance
because they like it: they commence, simply to gratify their vanity; and
then they imbibe the taste and acquire the habit. What they began
through pride, they continue through love. There, again, I say, is our
pull:--there always will be flats ready to throw themselves head and
shoulders into the nets that sharps spread out for them."

"All that is very true, Chichester," said the baronet. "But we don't
want a homily on the vice of gambling this afternoon: what we require is
the needful to enable us to put our plans into execution. The old tricks
that you taught me more than three years ago in that very respectable
lodging which you occupied in Bartholomew Close, are well-nigh worn out:
we have now studied fresh ones;--but we are totally deficient in the
steam to set our new engines in motion."

Chichester was about to reply when a carriage drove up to the front
door, and Mr. Greenwood alighted.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

THE ELECTION.

"Well--it is all right!" exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, the moment he entered
the drawing-room, his countenance radiant with joy, and his eyes
expressive of triumph.

"What is all right?" demanded both the baronet and Chichester in the
same breath.

"Why--have you not heard that the election for Rottenborough took place
yesterday?" said Greenwood.

"Oh! to be sure--I forgot that!" observed the baronet. "But you surely
never have beaten Lord Tremordyn's candidate?"

"Yes--I was returned triumphantly--814 against 102," said Greenwood.

"I wish you joy, my dear fellow," exclaimed Chichester. "I suppose you
astonished the natives of Rottenborough? but how the devil did you
manage this victory?"

"I will give you a brief sketch of the whole proceeding," said
Greenwood, throwing himself upon the sofa, and playing with his elegant
guard-chain. "The fact is, I learnt in the latter part of December that
the representative of Rottenborough intended to accept the Chiltern
Hundreds when the Houses met in February. You know that I was at that
time very intimate with Lord Tremordyn, your worthy and much revered
father-in-law, Sir Rupert----"

"Ah! worthy, indeed!" ejaculated the baronet impatiently.

"I accordingly spoke to Lord Tremordyn," continued Greenwood; "and,
after a little delicate manoeuvring, received his promise to support
me,--in fact, to get me in for Rottenborough. It had been arranged that
Count Alteroni and his family were to pass the month of January and a
portion of February with Lord and Lady Tremordyn; but in the mean time,
the count learned something about me, as I before told you, which he did
not like; and he rejected me as a suitor for his daughter's hand. That
did not grieve me much. My only motives for making up to the signora at
all were, because I really liked the girl, and because she is a
nobleman's daughter. But the count did not stop there. He sent an
apology to Lord and Lady Tremordyn, and declined the invitation. Off
goes his lordship to Richmond, and calls upon the count. The count spoke
so ill of me, it appears, that his lordship determined to cut me. There
seemed at first an insurmountable obstacle to my hopes relative to
Rottenborough."

"Yes--but you are never dismayed at any thing," said Chichester.

"Never. There is no such word as _impossible_ in my vocabulary,"
returned Greenwood; "and as for _improbable_--that is a word which can
only intimidate cowards. I made up my mind to exert all my energies to
obtain the gratification of my wishes. I had set my mind upon becoming
an M.P. I had dreamt of it--thought upon it for hours together--and had
even based certain calculations and schemes upon the event. I was not to
be disappointed. I immediately went down to Rottenborough, and put up at
the principal inn. I looked about me for a day or two, and at length saw
something that suited me--an old mansion in such a ruined and
dilapidated state, that it would require three or four thousand pounds
to restore it to a habitable and comfortable condition. It belonged to
the banker of the place. I bought it without haggling, and thus made a
friend of him. I then set all the masons, carpenters, decorators, and
upholsterers in the place to work, paid a considerable sum into the
banker's hands, and appointed the head solicitor in the town to be my
agent. I moreover gave him certain secret instructions relative to my
ultimate views, and returned to London. Every Saturday I went down to
Rottenborough--it is only twenty-four miles from London, you know--and
paid all the bills without demanding discount. I also sent fifty pounds
to the clergyman of the parish to lay out in purchasing blankets for the
poor; and paid the coal merchant for fifty tons of coals also for
charitable distribution. I always remained at Rottenborough until Monday
mornings, and went to church three times on the Sundays. No one spoke
the responses louder than I did--no one dwelt with such holy delight
upon the clergyman's sermons as myself. I moreover won the hearts of the
churchwardens, by placing a ten-pound note in the plate, after a charity
sermon; and I secured the overseer by visiting the workhouse with him,
tasting the soup, and pronouncing the dietary-scale to amount to
absolute luxuries. In this manner, I was soon talked about. 'Who is this
Mr. Greenwood?' was the universal question. 'A wealthy capitalist of
London,' answered the lawyer. Thus, every thing progressed well."

"So I should imagine," observed the baronet.

"Well--parliament met--the representative of Rottenborough resigned his
seat; and the next morning by eight o'clock, my lawyer-agent had secured
every inn, tavern, and public-house in Rottenborough in my name.
Placards were posted all over the town, announcing my intention to come
forward in the liberal interest, Lord Tremordyn having always supported
the opposite side. Down goes Lord Tremordyn with his candidate, and is
quite astonished to see all the walls and houses covered with posters,
on which the name of Greenwood appeared in monster-type. But if he were
surprised at first, how much more was he compelled to marvel, and how
deeply was he annoyed, when not an inn--not a tavern--not even a
public-house, would receive him, or his horses. His lordship drove to
the rector's. The parson 'was excessively glad to see his lordship, and
hoped his lordship would make his (the rector's) house his home; but he
(the rector) could not think of entertaining the Conservative candidate
also, as he had promised his vote to a gentleman who intended to settle
in the place, and who had already done a vast amount of good there.'
Lord Tremordyn was astounded. He went to the banker's. Precisely the
same answer. The brewer, the coal-merchant, the Chairman of the Board of
Poor Law Guardians (who had heard that I admired the soup and considered
gruel at nineteen out of twenty-one meals every week, to be actually
encouraging in the poor a taste for luxuries) all spoke well of me. Lord
Tremordyn grew livid with rage; and he was compelled to take up his
quarters, with the new candidate, at the house of the undertaker, whose
services I had neglected to secure, not having known upon what possible
pretence to order a few coffins."

"Capital!" ejaculated Sir Rupert: "I am glad the old lord was taken in
at last--he who fancied himself omnipotent at Rottenborough."

"Every engine of Tory tactics was now put into execution by Lord
Tremordyn, his candidate, and his agents. All his tenants who had not
paid up their arrears of rent, were menaced with executions and
ejectments if they did not vote for the Conservative. My lawyer knew how
to counteract this influence. He found out all the tenants who were in
arrears, and proffered them loans payable at very distant dates. This
accommodation was gladly accepted; and they were of course given to
understand that the assistance emanated from me. 'At the same time,'
said my lawyer, 'you must not think that this is a mere electioneering
manoeuvre to secure your support. No--remain free and independent
electors. Mr. Greenwood's wishes and objects were merely to defeat
tyranny and annihilate intimidation.' In this way we completely weaned
his own tenants away from Lord Tremordyn and his cause."

"All this must have cost you a great deal of money," said Chichester.

"Not near so much as you would fancy. But, whatever it was, it was well
spent. The position of an M.P. to me is worth thousands and
thousands:--I know how to avail myself of it."

"I wish I had your head, Greenwood," exclaimed Sir Rupert Harborough,
with a sigh.

"My dear baronet, if you had my head and lacked my perseverance, my
industry, and my power of self-command, you would be but little
benefited. Let me, however, continue my narrative of the
electioneering proceedings. There was now nothing but placarding and
counter-placarding. My canvassers were most eloquent in my cause. 'Do
not look,' said they, 'to whether a man be Whig or Tory--Radical or
Conservative: ascertain whether he will benefit the town--whether he
will be charitable to the poor, will support the tradesmen, and will
dwell during the recess amongst the inhabitants of Rottenborough. What
good have the candidates of the Tremordyn interest ever done for ye, O
Rottenboroughers? Has the present candidate an account at the banker's?
has he given away blankets and coals wholesale? has he come regularly on
Sunday to attend divine service in our parish church three times? has he
employed the greater portion of the tradesmen of the town? No--he
appears amongst you as a stranger--making fine promises, but having
given an earnest of nothing. Look at Greenwood--a man of enormous
wealth--known probity--vast experience--high character--splendid
qualifications--unlimited charity--and undoubted piety.'"

"I suppose you wrote out all that for your canvassers?" said Chichester.

"No: my lawyer copied a character for me out of an old romance; and it
seemed to be admirably appreciated. At length the eventful
day--yesterday--came. You may depend upon it, I was up early. My band
and colours commenced parading about the town at seven o'clock; and my
lawyer had very prudently hired the clown and pantaloon of Richardson's
Theatre to attend the band, and amuse the people with their antics
during the intervals between the different airs. This told wonderfully
well, and, as I afterwards learnt, won thirty-three votes away from Lord
Tremordyn's candidate."

"A fact which speaks volumes in favour of the intellectual
qualifications of the people of Rottenborough," observed the baronet.

"But the beauty of it was," continued Greenwood, "that my lawyer had the
clown in the Guildhall, when my opponent addressed the electors; and the
fellow imitated the gesticulations and the facial contortions of Lord
Tremordyn's candidate so well, that the speech was drowned in roars of
laughter."

"And I suppose that your speech was listened to with the greatest
attention?" said Chichester.

"The very greatest," returned Greenwood; "and I can assure you that I
pitched them the gammon in the very finest possible style. 'Gentlemen,'
I said, 'it is well known that not a single town in this empire contains
a more enlightened, intellectual, and independent population than
Rottenborough. The inhabitants of Rottenborough are the envy of
surrounding cities, and the admiration of the universe. History has ever
been busy with the name of Rottenborough; and never has a gallant
Rottenborougher disgraced his name, his country, or his cause. This is
the chosen home of freedom: if you seek for independence, you will find
it in the peaceful groves and delicious retreats of Rottenborough.
Famous also is this town for the loveliness and virtue of its women; and
beauteous and faithful wives make their husbands and sons good and
great. Oh! supremely blessed is the town of Rottenborough, situate in
its happy valley, and through whose streets sweep balmy gales, laden
with perfume and delicious odour.'--At this moment, the voice of some
purblind Tory exclaimed, 'What do you say to the putrid black ditch at
the back of the church?' Of course one of my own supporters smashed this
ruffian's hat over his eyes; and I then proceeded thus: 'Gentlemen, free
and independent electors of Rottenborough! I offer myself as your
representative! I throw myself into your arms! I undertake your cause!
Tory influence has long blunted your energies: Tory machinations have
for years dimmed the bright and brilliant intellects of the
Rottenboroughers. Do you ask me what are my principles? I will tell you.
I am a liberal in every sense of the word. I am anxious that every free
and independent elector of Rottenborough shall have his beef and beer
for nothing--which shall be the case to-morrow, if I am returned to-day.
I am desirous that the industrious classes should be improved in
condition--that they should have more food and less treadmill, and be
supplied with flannel to expel the bleak and nipping cold of winter.
This want it shall be my duty to supply. But that is not all: I hope to
see the day arrive when every pauper in the workhouse at Rottenborough
shall thank God for his happy condition, and receive an extra half ounce
of bacon for the dinner of the Sabbath! These are my fond
aspirations--these are my aims! If I seem to promise much--I am ready to
perform it all. Trust me--try me--place me in a condition to be useful
to you. I have now expounded to you all my views--I have laid bare my
secret soul to your eyes; and heaven can attest the sincerity of my
intentions. Under these circumstances I confidently claim your
suffrage;--but if it should happen that I am disappointed--if I am
forced to shut up the mansion which I have purchased in this
neighbourhood, suspend all the works, and fly for ever from the peaceful
retreats and delicious haunts of Rottenborough, I shall at least----.'
Here it was arranged between my lawyer and me that my voice was to
falter and that I should seem as if I was about to faint. I accordingly
wound up the farce with a little bit of melodrama: and from that instant
the cause of my opponent was desperate beyond all chances of
redemption."

"You deserved success, after that brilliant speech;" said Chichester,
laughing heartily at this narrative.

"The polling was continued briskly until four o'clock, when the mayor
closed the books and announced that _George Greenwood, Esquire,
Gentleman, was duly returned to serve in Parliament as the
representative of Rottenborough_."

"When shall you 'take your oaths and your seat,' as the papers say?"
demanded Chichester.

"This evening," answered Greenwood.

"And of course you will range yourself amongst the liberals?"

"How can you fancy that I shall be guilty of such egregious folly?"
cried the new Member of Parliament. "The reign of the Liberals is
drawing to a close: a Tory administration within a year or eighteen
months is inevitable."

"But you stood forward as a Liberal, and were returned as such."

"Very true--very true, my dear fellow. But do you imagine that I became
a Member of Parliament to meet the interests and wishes of a pack of
strangers, or to suit my own?"

"And at the next election----"

"I shall be returned again. Mark my word for that. A politician is not
worth a fig who has not a dozen excuses ready for the most flagrant
tergiversation; and money--money will purchase all the free and
independent electors of Rottenborough."

Lady Cecilia Harborough returned to the drawing-room at this moment. She
scarcely noticed Chichester--who was "her aversion"--but welcomed
Greenwood in the most cordial manner. The baronet observed "that he
should leave Mr. Greenwood to amuse Lady Cecilia with an account of his
electioneering exploits;" and then withdrew, accompanied by his "shadow"
Mr. Chichester.

"You have succeeded, George?" said Lady Cecilia, the moment they were
alone together.

"To my heart's content, dearest Cecilia," answered Greenwood, placing
his arm around the delicate waist of the frail fair one, and drawing
her close to him as they stood before the fire.

"I am delighted with this result," said Lady Cecilia; "although my own
father has sustained a defeat in the person of his candidate."

"All fair in the political world, dear Cecilia," replied the new Member
of Parliament. "But you have not yet appeared to understand that I came
hither the moment I returned from Rottenborough,--to bear to you, first
and foremost, the news of my success."

"Ah! dearest George, how can I ever sufficiently testify my gratitude to
thee for all thy proofs of ardent love?" whispered Lady Cecilia, in a
soft and melting tone.

"Yes--I love you--I love you well," answered Greenwood, who in a moment
of tenderness declared with the lips far more than he really felt with
the heart;--and he imprinted a thousand kisses upon her month, her
cheeks, and her brow.

She returned them, while her countenance glowed with a deep crimson
dye;--but neither the kisses nor the blushes were those of a pure and
sacred affection; they were the offspring of a licentious and illicit
flame.

A slight noise in the room startled the guilty pair.

They hastily withdrew from each other's embrace, and glanced around.

Mr. Chichester was advancing towards the table in the middle of the
apartment.

Lady Cecilia uttered a faint cry, and sank upon the sofa.

"I beg you a thousand pardons," said Chichester, affecting the utmost
indifference of manner; "but I had left this parcel behind me;"---- and,
taking up the small package containing his dice and cards, he withdrew.

"Merciful heavens!" ejaculated Lady Cecilia: "we are discovered--we are
betrayed! That wretch will ruin us!"

"Do not fear--do not alarm yourself, sweetest lady," returned Greenwood:
"I will undertake to stop that man's mouth! One moment--and I return."

He hurried after Mr. Chichester, whom he overtook half-way down the
stairs.

"Chichester, one word with you," said Greenwood.

"A dozen, if you like, my dear fellow."

"You came into the drawing-room a minute ago--unexpectedly----"

"And I apologised for my rudeness."

"Yes--but you are not the less possessed of a secret which involves the
honour of a lady--the happiness of an entire family----"

"Greenwood, I am a man of the world: you can rely upon me," interrupted
Chichester. "Fear nothing on that score. You have now asked your favour,
and obtained it of me: let me request one of you."

"Command me in any way you choose."

"I am at this moment embarrassed for a hundred pounds or so----"

"Say no more: they are yours," returned Greenwood; and he forthwith
handed a bank-note for the amount mentioned, to Mr. Chichester.

"Thank you," said that individual; and he hastened to rejoin the
baronet, who was waiting for him in the square.

"Well--have you found your implements?" said Sir Rupert, as he took his
friend's arm.

"Yes--and a hundred pounds into the bargain," returned Chichester,
drily.

"A hundred pounds! Impossible!"

"There is the bank-note. It is just what we required."

"But how----"

"Greenwood was coming down stairs, and I mustered up courage to ask him
for a loan. He complied without a moment's hesitation. Indeed," added
Chichester, with a sneer, "I almost think that I shall be enabled, in
case of emergency, to obtain another supply from the same quarter."

"This is fortunate--most fortunate!" exclaimed Harborough. "Let us go
and dine at Long's or Stephen's this evening, and see if we can pick up
a flat."

CHAPTER LXIX.

THE "WHIPPERS-IN."

Having reassured Lady Cecilia Harborough relative to the alarm inspired
by the intrusion of Chichester at so critical a moment, Mr. Greenwood
returned to his own residence in Spring Gardens.

"Any one called, Lafleur?" he said to his favourite valet, as he
ascended to his study.

"Two gentlemen; sir. Their cards are upon your desk. They both declared
that they would call again to day."

Mr. Greenwood hastened to inspect the cards of his two visitors. One
contained the following name and address:--

[Illustration: THE HON. V. W. Y. SAWDER, M.P.

_Reform-Club_.]

The other presented the annexed superscription to view:--

[Illustration: SIR T. M. B. MUZZLEHEM, BART., M.P.

_Carlton-Club_.]

"Ah! ha!" exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, chuckling audibly: "I understand what
this means! Already at work, eh? No time to be lost, I see." Then
turning towards Lafleur, he added, "You see, my good fellow, that when a
man like me--a man of--of--consideration, in a word--becomes entrusted
with the interests of a free, enlightened, and independent constituency,
like that of Rottenborough, the Ministerial party and the Opposition
each endeavour to secure me to their cause--you understand,
Lafleur--eh?"

"Perfectly, sir," answered the imperturbable valet, with his usual bow.

"Well, then, Lafleur," continued Mr. Greenwood, "you must know farther
that each party has its whipper-in. The whippers-in keep lists of those
who belong respectively to their own parties, and collect them together
when their support is absolutely necessary on a division of the House.
In fact, the whippers-in are the huntsmen of the pack: and the members
all collect at the sound of their bugles. Do you comprehend, Lafleur?"

"Yes, sir--thank you, sir."

"I must therefore see both these gentlemen--but separately, mind. If
they should happen to call at the same time, show one into the
drawing-room while I receive the other here."

"Yes, sir."

"And now, Lafleur," proceeded Mr. Greenwood, "while we are upon the
subject, I may as well give you a few instructions relative to that
deportment which my altered position renders necessary."

Lafleur bowed.

"Placed in a situation of high responsibility and trust, by the
confidence of an intelligent and enlightened constituency," resumed Mr.
Greenwood, "I am bound to maintain a position which may inspire respect
and confidence. In the first place, as it cannot be supposed that I
shall receive many epistolary communications until my opinions upon
particular measures and questions become known through my parliamentary
conduct,--and as, at the same time, it would be disgraceful for the
neighbourhood to imagine that my correspondence is limited, you must
take care that the two-penny postman never passes my door without
leaving a letter."

"Yes, sir. I will have a letter, addressed to you, posted every two
hours, sir, so that you cannot fail to receive one by each delivery."

"Good, Lafleur; and you can tell the postman," added Mr. Greenwood, "to
knock louder than he has been in the habit of doing----"

"Yes, sir; because it is difficult to hear from the servants' offices."

"Precisely, Lafleur. And you can tell our newsman to bring me all the
_second editions_ of the newspapers whenever there are any; and mind you
always keep the news-boy waiting a long time at the door. Tell him,
moreover, to bawl out '_second edition_' of whatever paper it may be, as
loud as he can."

"I will take care he shall do so, sir," answered Lafleur.

"And once a week, or so," proceeded Greenwood, after a pause, "let an
express-courier gallop at full speed up to the house, and ring and knock
furiously until the door is opened. But, mind that he comes from at
least three or four miles distant, so that his horse may be covered with
foam, and himself with mud or dust, according to the state of the
weather."

"I understand, sir."

"Moreover, Lafleur, at least three or four times a week, go to
Leadenhall Market and purchase the game and poultry which we may require
for the house, and send it home by the London Parcels Delivery Company,
so that the neighbours may say, '_More presents for Mr. Greenwood. Dear
me! how popular he must be with his constituents!_'"

"I fully comprehend, sir."

"You can send fish home, too,--and haunches of venison in the same
manner," continued the new Member of Parliament; "but mind that the
feathers of the pheasants, the tails of the fish, and the feet of the
haunches always hang out of the baskets in which they are packed."

"Oh! certainly, sir."

"If you could possibly get a charity-school to wait upon me some
morning, to solicit me to become a patron, or any thing of that sort, it
would do good, and I should make a handsome donation to the funds."

"That can be managed, sir. I can safely promise that seventy boys and
ninety girls shall wait upon you in procession any day you choose to
appoint."

"Well and good, Lafleur. And mind that they are kept standing for three
quarters of an hour in the street before they are admitted."

"As a matter of course, sir."

"And now I will just mention a few things," continued Mr. Greenwood,
"that you most manage with very great nicety. Indeed, I know I can rely
upon you in every thing."

Lafleur bowed.

"You must turn away all Italian organ-players. The moment one shows
himself under our windows, let one of the footmen rush out and order him
off. It is not proper to encourage such vagabonds: the aristocracy don't
like them."

"Certainly not, sir."

"Organ-playing is a thing I am determined to put an end to. There is
also the hoop nuisance. Give any boy into charge, whatever may be his
age, who is caught trundling a hoop in Spring Gardens. That is another
thing I am resolved to put an end to. Ballad-singers and broom-girls you
will of course have taken into custody without hesitation. In fact you
had better give the policeman upon the beat general instructions upon
this head; and you can slip a guinea into his hand at the same time."

"Very good, sir."

"At the same time we must be charitable, Lafleur--we must be
charitable."

"Decidedly, sir."

"You must find out some decent woman with half a dozen children, to whom
the broken victuals can be given every day at about three o'clock, when
there are plenty of people in the street;--a woman who does not exactly
want the food, but who will not refuse it. The respectability of her
appearance will be set down to my benevolence, Lafleur; and she must be
careful always to come with her children. By these means we shall gain
the reputation of being judiciously particular in respect to vagabonds
and impostors, but charitable in the extreme to the deserving poor."

"Just so, sir."

"One word more, Lafleur. When any person calls whom you know I do not
want to see, say, '_Mr. Greenwood is engaged with a deputation from his
constituents_;' or else, '_Mr. Greenwood has just received very
important dispatches, and cannot be disturbed_;'--or, again, '_Mr.
Greenwood has just stepped down as far as the Home Office_.' You fully
comprehend."

"Perfectly, sir."

"Then you may retire, Lafleur. But--by the bye--Lafleur!"

"Yes, sir?"

"I shall add twenty guineas a year to your wages from this date,
Lafleur," said Mr. Greenwood.

"Thank you, sir," answered the valet; and, with a low bow, he retired.

"Another step gained in the ladder of ambition!" said Greenwood to
himself, when he was alone. "A Member of Parliament--and in spite of
Lord Tremordyn! ha! ha! ha! In spite of Lord Tremordyn! Oh most
intelligent and independent electors of Rottenborough: I bought your
suffrages with gold, with fine words, with clowns and mountebanks, and
with pots of beer! Free and enlightened electors! ha! ha! I shall turn
against the very interest in which I was elected; but if my constituents
grumble, I will silence them with more gold;--if they reproach, I will
use all the sophistry of which language is capable--and that is not a
little;--if they repine, I will win them back to good humour with fresh
sights, and buffoons, and galas;--if they grow dry with talking against
me, I will have whole pipes of wine and butts of beer broached in their
streets! Yes--I must join the Tory interest: I see that it is now upon
the rise. And yet I know--I feel in my heart--I have the conviction that
the popular cause is the true one, the just one. But what of that? I
stood forward as a candidate to suit myself, and not for the sake of the
free and independent electors of Rottenborough! Yes, all goes well with
me! An occasional annoyance--such as my failure in obtaining possession
of the person of Eliza Sydney, and of the hand of Isabella, the lovely
Italian--cannot be avoided;--but in all great points--in all my
important views, I am successful! And yet, Isabella--Isabella! Upon her
the eye that is wearied with the contemplation of the rude and
discordant scenes of life, could rest--could rest with unfeigned, with
ineffable delight! O Isabella, there are times when thine image comes
before me, like the vision of a holy and chaste Madonna to the
sleep-bound mind of the pious Catholic;--and there have been solitary
hours in which the whole earth has seemed to me to be covered with
flowers beneath the sweet sunlight of thine eyes! And yet--who knows?
The day may come when even thou shalt be mine! I longed to languish in
the arms of Diana Arlington;--and I had my wish. I coveted the patrician
loveliness of Cecilia Harborough;--and, behold! my wealth purchased it.
I sought for change; and accident--a strange accident--surrendered to my
embraces _another_--yes, _another_--whom I have never seen since that
day--now more than two months ago,--but who, I have since learnt through
the medium of my faithful Lafleur, dwells in the same house with--"

Mr. Greenwood's reverie was interrupted by the entrance of his valet,
who introduced the Honourable Mr. Sawder into the study. The new Member
of Parliament received the Whig whipper-in with his usual courtesy of
manner; and, when they were both seated, Mr. Sawder felicitated Mr.
Greenwood upon the successful result of the Rottenborough election.

"The liberal cause triumphed most signally," said Mr. Sawder: "the
result was hailed with enthusiasm at the Reform Club, I can assure you."

"I have no doubt," answered Mr. Greenwood, already adopting the method
of evasion so much in vogue amongst diplomatic and political
circles,--"I have no doubt that every true lover of his country must be
rejoiced at the victory achieved by straightforward conduct over the
system of bribery, intimidation, and corruption practised by the nominee
of Lord Tremordyn and his agents."

"Oh! certainly--certainly," returned Mr. Sawder. "The object of my
present visit is to ascertain whether you will permit me to introduce
you to the House this evening?"

"It is my intention to take the oaths and my seat this evening,"
answered Mr. Greenwood.

"And my services as _chaperon_--"

"You really confer a great honour upon me."

"Then I may consider that you accept--"

"My dear sir, how can I sufficiently thank you for this kind interest
which you take in my behalf?"

"Pray do not mention it, Mr. Greenwood."

"No, Mr. Sawder, I will not allude to it; since it is the more to be
appreciated, inasmuch as I never had the pleasure of being known to you
previous to this occasion."

"I am therefore to understand," said the whipper-in, who could not
precisely fathom the new member through the depths of these ambiguous
phrases, "that you will allow me the honour of introducing you--"

"The honour, my dear sir, would be with me," observed Mr. Greenwood,
with a gracious bow.

"At what hour, then, will you be prepared--"

"My time shall henceforth always be devoted to the interests of my
constituents."

"A very noble sentiment, my dear Mr. Greenwood," said the whipper-in.
"Shall we then fix the ceremony for five o'clock?"

"Five o'clock is an excellent hour, Mr. Sawder--an excellent hour. I
know no hour that I like more than five o'clock," exclaimed Mr.
Greenwood.

"Be it five, then," said the whipper-in. "And now, relative to the
Reform club--when will it please you to be proposed a member?"

"It will please me, my dear sir, at any time, to join that fraternity of
honourable gentlemen with whom I shall in future co-operate."

"Well and good, my dear sir," said Mr. Sawder; and he slowly and
reluctantly took his leave, not knowing what to make of the new member
for Rottenborough, nor whether to calculate upon his adhesion to the
Whig cause, or not.

Scarcely had the Honourable Mr. V. W. Y. Sawder, M. P., driven away in
his beautiful cabriolet from Mr. Greenwood's door, when Sir T. M. B.
Muzzlehem, Bart., M. P. arrived in his brougham at the same point. But
if Mr. Greenwood were evasive and ambiguous to the Whig whipper-in, he
was clear and lucid to the Tory one.

Sir T. Muzzlehem began by felicitating him upon his election, and in a
verbose harangue, expressed his hopes that Mr. Greenwood would support
that cause "the object of which was to maintain the glorious old
constitution inviolate, and uphold the Established Church in its unity
and integrity."

"Those are precisely my intentions," said Mr. Greenwood.

"I am delighted to hear you say so, my dear sir," resumed the Tory
whipper-in; "but I have one deep cause of uneasiness, which is that you
may not entertain precisely the same views of what is necessary to
maintain these honourable and ancient institutions, as the men who would
gladly lay down their lives to benefit their country."

"I believe, Sir Thomas Muzzlehem," answered Mr. Greenwood, "that I shall
act according to the wishes of my constituents, the dictates of my own
conscience, and the views of the illustrious men of whom you speak."

"In which case, my dear Mr. Greenwood, I am of course to understand that
you will be one of _us_--one of the true defenders of the Throne, the
Constitution, and the Church--"

"In other words, a Conservative," added Mr. Greenwood.

"Bravo!" ejaculated the whipper-in, unable to conceal his joy at this
unexpected result of a visit whose object he had at first deemed certain
of defeat: then, shaking Mr. Greenwood heartily by the hand, he said,
"At what hour shall I have the pleasure of introducing you this
evening?"

"At a quarter to five precisely," replied Mr. Greenwood.

"And of course you will become a member of the Carlton?" added the
whipper-in.

"Of course--whenever you choose--as early as possible," said Mr.
Greenwood.

Sir Thomas Muzzlehem again wrung the hand of the new member, and then
took his leave.

The moment he had departed, Lafleur repaired to the study, and said, "A
lady, sir, is waiting to see you in the drawing-room."

"A lady!" ejaculated Mr. Greenwood: "who is she?"

"I do not know, sir. She refused to give me her name; and I have never
seen her before."

"How did she come?"

"On foot, sir. She is neatly, but plainly dressed; and yet her manners
seem to indicate that she is a lady."

"Strange! who can she be?" murmured Greenwood, as he hastened to the
drawing-room.

CHAPTER LXX.

THE IMAGE, THE PICTURE, AND THE STATUE.

Upon the sofa in Mr. Greenwood's elegantly-furnished drawing-room was
seated the young lady who so anxiously sought an interview with the
owner of that princely mansion.

Her face was very pale: a profound melancholy reigned upon her
countenance, and was even discernible in her drooping attitude; her eyes
expressed a sorrow bordering upon anguish; and yet, through that veil of
dark foreboding, the acute observer might have seen a ray--a feeble ray
of hope gleaming faintly, so faintly, that it appeared a flickering lamp
burning at the end of a long and gloomy cavern.

Her elbow rested upon one end of the sofa, and her forehead was
supported upon her hand, when Greenwood entered the room.

The doors of that luxurious dwelling moved so noiselessly upon their
hinges, and the carpets spread upon the floors were so thick, that not a
sound, either of door or footstep, announced to that pale and mournful
girl the approach of the man whom she so deeply longed to see.

He was close by her ere she was aware of his presence.

With a start, she raised her head, and gazed steadfastly up into his
countenance; but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth, and refused
utterance to the name which she would have spoken.

"Ellen!" ejaculated Greenwood, as his eyes met hers.--"what has brought
you hither?"

"Can you not imagine it possible that I should wish to see you again?"
answered Miss Monroe--for she was Mr. Greenwood's visitor upon the
present occasion.

"But why so much mystery, Ellen? why refuse to give the servant your
name? why adopt a course which cannot fail to render your visit a matter
of suspicion to my household?" said Greenwood, somewhat impatiently.

"Forgive me--forgive me, if I have done wrong," exclaimed Ellen, the
tears gushing to her eyes. "Alas! misfortunes have rendered me so
suspicious of human nature, that I feared--I feared lest you should
refuse to see me--that you would consider me importunate--"

"Well--well, Ellen: do not cry--that is foolish! I am not angry now; so
cheer up, and tell me in what I can serve thee?"

As Greenwood uttered these words, he seated himself upon the sofa by the