submission, you have acted like a fool. However, it is not too late to
remedy. I shall charge the estate, which will now become Lord
Fylingdale's, with £300 a year, your salary for administering the
estate and for managing the business. It will be impossible to refuse
this claim, and I shall set down £150 a year for maintenance of your
ward."

The captain stared. Here was a turning of the tables, with a
vengeance.

"The claim is just, reasonable, and moderate. I shall not advance it
as a thing to be objected to. You will, meantime, go through the
accounts; take out £450 a year; this for eighteen years, would be
£8,100; but the money must be considered as used for investments. You
will therefore set apart £450 a year, and as soon as that amounts to a
sufficient sum to be represented by an investment, you will set apart
that piece of property as your own. This will represent a much larger
sum than £8,100. Your ward will not, after all, be left penniless, if
you bequeath her your money. Ha! the young man is going to direct
_The Lady of Lynn_ in matters of law--ME, is he?"

In fact the captain was so simple that it had never occurred to him
that he could take a salary for his conduct of the business; or that
he could ask for an allowance for the maintenance of his ward, and
this timely discovery by the attorney in the end saved Molly from
poverty and left her still, in comparison with most girls of the place
or of the county, a very considerable heiress.

When Mr. Bisse, a few days later, arrived with his instructions, he
found drawn up for him a statement for the eighteen years of the
captain's trusteeship. On the working side of the account was shown a
charge of £150 a year as provided by the will of Molly's father for
his widow for life; a similar sum for the maintenance of the ward, and
a salary of £300 to Captain Crowle for managing the business in the
name of the firm as shippers and general merchants. Mr. Stephen Bisse,
by this time, had quite lost his assurance. He attempted no
objections. "I suppose," he said, "you will allow me an inspection of
the books."

"Certainly. You will, however, find them difficult to make out. Are
you acquainted with the routine work of a counting-house?"

Mr. Bisse owned that he was not. "I shall be asked," he said, "if I
have examined the books."

"You shall examine what you please." Mr. Redman understood by this
time the character of this young attorney. "The chief clerk of the
counting-house shall be with you to answer any questions you please to
ask."

He had come to Lynn, you see, by order of his principals, instructed
that the guardian was an old addle-headed sailor, whose accounts would
certainly prove liable to question and very likely open to dispute and
to claims; he was aware that the noble client desired nothing so much
as to ruin this old sailor; that he was also in great necessities for
want of money; and that he was anxious, for some reason unknown to his
attorney that the question of the validity of the marriage should not
be raised or tried in open court. But he had been met by a man of law
and by accounts of a most complicated kind, and by the direct refusal
to part with any money until a final release had been obtained for the
guardian. He, therefore, referred to his principals twice. On the
second occasion he was told that his lordship could not wait; that he
was to guard against fraud by such an examination of the books as was
possible; that he was to get rid of the guardian, grant the release if
the accounts allowed him to do so, lay hands on all the monies
available, and report progress.

This, in short, he did. The amended schedule reserved property
amounting in value to £450 a year as invested year after year, and
therefore at something like compound interest, so that this deduction
gave the captain personal and real property representing some £12,000.
The rest was acknowledged to be the property of the ward, and
therefore, assuming the marriage to be valid, under the control of my
Lord Fylingdale.

The auditor went to the counting-house and called for the books. He
opened one or two at random; he looked wise; he made a note or two,
for show; he asked a question or two, for pretence, and he went away.

This done, he repaired to Mr. Redman's office again and tendered a
full release to Captain Crowle for his trusteeship. The document, in
which Molly was called by her maiden name, and not by that of the
Countess of Fylingdale, when it was signed and sealed, rendered the
old man free of any persecution; but it left the estate entirely in
the hands of the pretended husband.

"You are aware, sir, of course," said Mr. Bisse, "that this release
accepted by Captain Crowle, also accepts the truth of my client's
statements as regards his marriage."

"We are not going to dispute the fact. We have our opinion, but the
weight of evidence and presumption is against us. As his lordship only
wants the fortune he can take it. May I ask what you are instructed to
do about it?"

"My instructions are first to receive all monies in hand, save what is
wanted for current expenses in conducting the business."

"You will see what Captain Crowle has in his strong room. You can take
that money to-day if you please."

"And next, all the jewels, gold chains, bracelets, etc., belonging to
the countess."

"You can have them also."

"As regards the lands, houses, mortgages, and the business, my lord
will consider what is best to be done. I am directed to find some
person of integrity in the place who will receive the rents and carry
on the business. I fear I cannot ask for your assistance."

"You can, and may. It is still our interest that the affairs of the
firm shall be well managed. The chief clerk in the counting-house is
the best man you can appoint. He now receives £90 a year. You can give
him what the captain had, £300."

"I do not know how long the arrangement will last."

"You mean that your client will probably waste and squander the
whole."

"I desire to speak of that nobleman with respect. He is, however, in
expenditure even more profuse than becomes his high rank."

Molly shed no tears over the loss of her jewels. She brought the box
down with her own hands; she opened it, took out the contents to be
verified by the inventory, shut and locked it, and gave the attorney
the key. The captain led him downstairs to the cellar, in a wall of
which a cupboard had been constructed, which, with a stone in front,
removable with a little trouble, formed a strong room. Here were the
boxes of guineas waiting to be invested or employed. I know not how
many there were, but Mr. Bisse carried all away with him.

When he departed the next day for London he was escorted by four stout
fellows armed with cudgels and pistols riding beside his post-chaise.
However, he reached London in safety and delivered his prize.

"I wonder," said Mr. Redman, "how long it will be before instructions
come for the foreclosing of the mortgages and the sale of the
property."

"I am doubtful after all," said the vicar, who always doubted because
he always saw both sides of the question, "whether we have done
rightly. We could have made a good fight, and we could have proved, at
least, that Lord Fylingdale was in desperate straits for money."

"Jack was right," said Molly. "Nothing can be done until we find the
other woman."

CHAPTER XL

ON MY RETURN

These things happened soon after my departure. When six months later I
returned home I found that many things had followed.

First of all, the chief clerk, promoted to the management of the
estate under orders from London, found himself in no enviable
position. He was called upon to send up money week after week--my lord
wanted a hundred--five hundred--one knows not what, and must have it
without delay. If there was no money, then all outstanding accounts
must be collected, mortgages must be foreclosed; but where credit has
been allowed it is not possible to collect accounts suddenly, nor can
mortgages be foreclosed without due notice given. Then the houses must
be sold; but in a place like Lynn, which has more houses than it can
fill, it is not easy to sell a house, and the price which can be
obtained is small indeed compared with the value of houses in London.
Then farms and lands must be sold. But who was there to buy them?

Then came letters of rebuke, answered by letters of remonstrance.
Money must be raised somehow; money had been advanced on the security
of Molly's property; my lord was in difficulties.

It is almost incredible that a man should be able in so short a time
to waste and dissipate so large a sum of money. When we returned, and
I went ashore, the first person I saw was the unfortunate chief clerk,
promoted to be manager.

"Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "little did I think when I was put into
this charge at a yearly salary of £300--more than ever I hoped or
dreamed of getting--what a peck of trouble was waiting for me. Little
did I understand, sir, how the great live; with what profusion, with
what extravagance! As for that poor young lady--heaven help her, for
her property is vanishing fast! Soon there will be none. I have no
right to talk of my employer's affairs; but you know what has
happened."

"In a word, Lord Fylingdale is getting through Molly's property."

"Worse than that; he is throwing it away. Sir, I wake in the night
with dreams of terror. I think I see a man plunging his hands into a
sack of gold and throwing it about with both hands. I have been
ordered to foreclose mortgages, to sell houses, to sell farms, to sell
everything. When I cannot find a purchaser there come letters from my
lord's attorneys, Bisse and Son--the young man was here himself with
peremptory orders to find a purchaser--any purchaser. Money must be
had."

"Well, there will be, I suppose, an end some time or other."

"The end will come before we look for it. Because, Mr. Pentecrosse,
while the profusion goes on the estate grows less, and it becomes more
difficult every day to answer their demands."

"What is left?"

"I hear that Miss Molly's jewels were carried away by the young man. I
hope he was honest, and kept none for himself. I know that the captain
had a large sum of money in his strong room waiting for a mortgage;
that went away with the young man. Since then I have sent up all the
money as it came in. I have foreclosed the mortgages. Some of the
mortgagors could not pay, and are now bankrupt. The captain would
never press his people so long as they paid the interest. I have been
able to sell some of the farms; but you know this country, Mr.
Pentecrosse; there is not much money among the gentry of these parts;
they have been sold at a sacrifice; I have others in the market; there
are houses, also, but no one will buy them. Well, all will soon be
gone. Then there will remain but one asset out of all the magnificent
property of the work of three generations. Miss Molly's grandfather,
and her father, and herself by means of the captain--only one asset."

"What is that?"

"And soon that will go, too," he replied with a hollow groan. "Sir, it
is the noble fleet and the great business which belongs to the fleet.
If the ships are sold----"

Suddenly I remembered my lord's question on board _The Lady of Lynn_.
"Can," he asked, "a ship be sold like an estate of land?"

"They will be sold," I said, confidently. "You may look to have them
sold as soon as the other assets are expended. The last thing to be
sold will be the fleet of ships, and the business which belongs to the
ships."

"And what will become of me?"

"Why," I said, "somebody must manage the business. Why not you, since
you have been all your life in it, and know what it means and how it
is conducted? But who will buy it?"

"Not all the merchants of Lynn together could find the money to buy
these ships and to carry on this business. No, sir, the whole must go
to strangers."

I left him, having given him the ship's papers, and went on to see the
captain and Molly.

"Jack," she said, ruefully, "you promised when you went away that
there would be a change. None has come, except a change for the worse.
But that we expected."

"In other words, Jack," the captain explained, "everything that
happens must happen before very long, or there will be nothing left.
My lord is spending at such a rate as no fortune could stand. What
does he mean? When it is gone will he find another Molly and marry her
for her money? There is not in all the land another Molly--not even
for her good looks, let alone her fortune."

As for good looks, her misfortunes had only improved poor Molly's face
which was now of a more pensive cast and had lost some of its youthful
joyousness. To be sure she had little to make her joyous.

I observed, and I understood, that she was dressed with the utmost
simplicity, like a farmer's daughter. For, outside, the people spoke
of her as the countess, even while they accepted her story and did not
allow her to be married. She would, at least, present no external sign
of the rank which she denied.

"How does the man spend all this money?" I asked.

"Thank heaven, Jack, a plain person, like you and me, cannot answer
that question. How does he spend that money? Who knows? He has had,
since he began, six months ago, a great many thousands. If he has sold
the jewels he has had I know not how many more, and still the same
cry--'send more money--send more money, my lord wants more money
without delay.' As for that poor man, lately my clerk, he is driven
like a slave and bullied like a raw recruit. He wrings his hands.
'What shall I do, captain?' he asks. 'What shall I do? Whither shall I
turn?'"

Then there came into my head the thought that I might somehow, by
going to London find out what manner of life was led by my lord and in
what ways he wasted and scattered Molly's substance. I could do
nothing to stop or to hinder the waste; yet when one knows the truth
it is generally more tolerable than the uncertainty--the truth is an
open enemy which one can see and avoid, or submit to, or fight; the
unknown is an unknown and an unseen enemy who may attack from any
quarter and by any weapon.

I thought over the plan for some days; it assumed clearer shape; it
became a purpose. Molly, for her part, neither approved nor
disapproved. She was for letting the man, who pretended to be her
husband, work his wicked will and do what he pleased, provided that he
left her in peace.

How was a simple sailor to find out the daily life of a great lord?
The backstairs one would not choose; but what other way was there? I
laid the matter before my father and the vicar. "I know not," said the
latter, "that we can do much good by learning the truth, even if we
ascertain all the particulars of the man's life from his very
companions, but you might satisfy us on certain points. For instance,
about that mysterious woman. I know not how you can find out anything,
but you might possibly chance upon a clue."

"Go," said my father, "to my cousin, the bookseller. He found out
something about Lord Fylingdale's character. He might find out more.
You can at least explain what you want and why."

The end of it was that I went to London, riding with a small company,
and meeting with no adventures on the way; that I put up at one of the
inns outside Bishopsgate, and that I found out my cousin and put the
whole case before him. He was a grave and responsible citizen, a
churchwarden, and of good standing in the Stationers' company.

"You want to know how Lord Fylingdale spends his money. I suppose
there are but two or three ways; of profligates, I take it, there are
only a few varieties; one games; another rakes; a third surrounds
himself with companions who flatter him and strip him. The first two
are possessed of devils; the third is a fool. I do not imagine that my
Lord Fylingdale is a fool, but you will probably find that he is
possessed of both the other devils, and perhaps more."

"But how am I to find out?"

"Why, cousin, I think I know a young fellow who can help you in this
business."

"Who is he? How shall I approach him?"

"He is a gentleman who lives by his wits; not one of the ragged poets
who haunt our shops with offers and projects and entreat work at a
guinea a sheet. No; he is a gentleman, and a wit; his father was a
general in the army; his cousin is a noble lord; he is received into
the houses of the great when he chooses to go. He works for the
theatre, and has composed several pieces said to be ingenious. As for
his acquaintance with me, I would have you to understand that with two
or three other booksellers we bring out a weekly essay like those of
the _Spectator_ and _Tatler_, which, of course, you know."

"I never heard of them."

The bookseller smiled with compassion. "To be sure; at sea there are
no books. Well, cousin, this young gentleman sometimes, when he is in
the humour, will write me an essay in the true vein of an Addison. I
will speak with him. If any one can, he can do your business for you."

It was by the kind offices of this gentleman, whom I found to be a
person of quick wit and ready understanding, besides being of a most
obliging disposition, that I was enabled to see, with my own eyes, an
evening such as my lord loved. As for the details, you must, if you
please, hold me excused. Let it suffice that our observations began at
a gaming house and ended at a tavern. At both places I kept in the
background, because I would not be recognised by Lord Fylingdale.

He came into the gaming table with the same lofty, cold carriage which
he had shown at our humble assembly. He advanced to the table; he
began to play; no one could tell from his lordship's face whether he
lost or won; in half an hour or so my friend returned to my corner.
"He has lost a cool five hundred. They are whispering round the table
that he loses hundreds every evening. All the world are asking what
gold mine he possesses that he can stand these losses?"

"I know his gold mine," I replied, with a sigh. "But it is nearly
exhausted."

We stayed a little longer. It was about ten or eleven in the evening
that his lordship left the table.

"Come," said my friend. "I know the tavern where he will spend the
next three or four hours. I can take you there. The bowls of punch and
the company and everything are provided at his lordship's expense. Mr.
Pentecrosse, it must be not a gold mine, but a mine of Golconda, to
bear this profusion."

"I tell you, sir, whatever it is, the mine is nearly run out."

"It will not be bad for the morals of the town when it has quite run
out."

As regards the tavern and its company it is, indeed, astonishing to me
that any man should find pleasure in such a company and in such
discourse. At the head of the table sat my lord. He appeared to be
neither pleased nor displeased; the drink flowed like a stream of
running water; it seized on all and made their faces red, their voices
thick; the noble leader sat unmoved, or, if moved at all, then by a
kind of contempt. At two o'clock he rose and walked out into the
street, where his chair awaited him.

"This is his humour," said my guide. "Play is his passion; it is the
one thing that he lives for; he has wasted and ruined his own estate,
which will be transmitted to his successor as bare as the back of my
hand; and now he is wasting the wealth of Potosi and the diamonds of
Golconda. He would waste the whole world if he could."

"Why does he entertain such a crew?"

"It is his humour. He seems to delight in observing the wickedness of
the world. He sits and looks on; he encourages and stimulates, and his
face grows colder and his eyes harder. This man is not possessed of a
devil. He is himself the Great Devil--the Prince of Iniquity."

So I had learned all that I wanted to know. It was now quite certain
that we were within a short distance from the end. The lands and
houses in the market would find a purchaser; the fleet and the
business would then be sold. What next?

The day after this experience in the life of a rake I paid a visit for
the first and only time to St. James Park in the afternoon. It was, I
remember, a cold but clear and bright day in January. At the gates
stood a crowd of lacqueys and fellows waiting for their ladies, and
stamping on the ground to keep off the cold. Within, a goodly company
walked briskly up and down. They were the great people of London whom
I saw here. While I looked on admiring the dresses of the ladies and
the extravagances of the gentlemen, who seemed to vie with each other
in calling attention to themselves by their dress and by their
gestures, there passed me, walking alone, a lady whom at first I did
not recognise. She started, however, and smartly tapped my hand with
her fan--she carried the fan although it was winter, just as the beaux
dangled their canes from their wrists.

"Why," she cried, "it is my sailor! It is surely Jack Pentecrosse!"

Then I recognised the Lady Anastasia.

"And what is Jack Pentecrosse doing in this wicked town? And how is
Molly--the countess? Come, Jack, to my house. It is not far from here.
I should like a talk with you, and to hear the news. And I will give
you a dish of tea. Why, I left Lynn in disgrace--did I not? On account
of the grand jury of Middlesex. It was that evening when Lord
Fylingdale turned upon his enemies."

Her house was not very far from St. James's Street. As we walked
along, she discoursed pleasantly in her soft and charming manner, as
if she was made happy just by meeting me, and as if she had always
been thinking about me.

She placed me in a chair before the fire; she sat opposite; she pulled
her bell rope and called for tea; then she began to talk about Lynn
and its people.

"Tell me, Jack, about your friend Molly. Is she reconciled to her rank
and title yet? I believe that she does not live with her husband."

"She denies that she was married."

"Ah! I have heard, in fact, that there is some sort of a story--a cock
and a bull story--about the wedding."

"Another woman was substituted. Molly was at home."

"Another woman? Strange! Why was she substituted? Who was she?"

"I know not. The matter is a mystery. Certain it is, however, that
Lord Fylingdale was married. I myself saw the wedding. I was in the
church."

"You were in the church?" She raised her fan for a moment. "You were
in the church? And you saw the wedding. Who was the bride?"

"I do not know. At the time I thought it was Molly."

"Jack," she leaned over, looking me full in the face. "Have you no
suspicion?"

"None. I cannot understand how, all in a moment, and when he found
that Molly was not there, the bridegroom found means to substitute
another woman dressed as Molly should have been. I cannot understand
it."

"It is, as you say, strange. Do you think you will ever find out?"

"Why not? There are three persons in the plot--Lord Fylingdale, Mr.
Purdon, and the woman. One of the two last will perhaps reveal the
truth."

She was silent for a moment.

"Well, and what are you doing in town?"

"I came to learn, if I could, something of Lord Fylingdale's private
life."

"Have you succeeded?"

"He is a gambler and a rake. He is rapidly wasting the whole of poor
Molly's fortune. In a few months, or weeks, it will all be gone."

"Yes," she replied; "all will be gone."

"First he took the money and the jewels----"

"What?" she sat up suddenly. "He took the jewels?"

"He took them first. Then he sold the lands."

"Oh, tell me no more! He is wasting and destroying. It is his nature.
First he took the jewels. How long ago?"

"Six months ago."

"He has had the jewels," she said. "He has had them for six months."
Her face became hard and drawn as with pain; her smiling mouth became
hard; the light died out of her eyes; she became suddenly twenty years
older. I wondered what this change might mean. You will think that I
was a very simple person not to guess more from all these indications.
She pushed back her chair and sprang to her feet; she walked over to
the window and looked out upon the cold street, in which there were
flying flakes of snow. Then she came back and stood before the fire.
"You can go," she said, harshly, not looking me in the face. "You can
go," she repeated, forgetting her proffered hospitality of tea. "About
that woman, Jack, you may find her yet. Many a wicked woman has been
goaded by wrongs intolerable to confess her wickedness. I think you
may find her. It will be too late to save Molly's fortune; but when it
is all spent there will be a chance for you, Jack." She turned upon me
a wan and sad smile. "Happy Molly!" she added, laying her hand upon my
arm with the sweet graciousness that she could command. "Jack," she
added, "I think we may pity that poor wretch who personated Molly. It
was perhaps out of love for a worthless man. Women are so. It is not
worth, or virtue, or ability, or character that awakens love and keeps
it alive. A woman, Jack, loves a man. There is nothing more to be
said. If he is a good man so much the better. If not--still she loves
him." She sighed heavily. "What do you sailors know about women?
Virtue, fame, and fortune do not make love, nor--Jack, which is a hard
thing for you to believe--does all the wickedness in the world destroy
love. A woman may be goaded into revenge, but it makes her all the
more unhappy--because love remains."

I went away, musing on this woman who sometimes seemed so true and
earnest with all her fashion and affectations. For, as she spoke about
love, the tears stood in her eyes as if she was speaking of her own
case. But I never suspected her; I never had the least suspicion of
her as the mysterious woman.

I took cars into the city and went to my cousin's shop, where there
were half-a-dozen gentlemen talking volubly about new books, among
them my friend who had taken me to the gaming house and to the tavern.
When he saw me he slipped aside. "Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "your
cousin reminds me that I once told him what I could learn concerning
an unfortunate poet named Semple. If you would like to see him I think
I can take you to him."

I thanked him, and said that I would willingly have speech of Mr.
Semple.

So he led me down little Britain, and so by a maze of streets to a
place called Turnagain Lane. He stopped at an open door. The street in
the waning light looked squalid, and the house mean.

"The darling of Parnassus," he said, "lies in the top chamber. You
will find him there, unless I mistake not, because he cannot
conveniently go abroad."

So saying, he left me, and I climbed up the dark and dirty staircase,
some of the steps of which had been taken away for firewood, and
presently found myself at the top of the last flight before a closed
door. I knocked. A faint voice bade me come in.

There was no fire in the fireplace; there was no candle; by the faint
light which struggled through the window I perceived that I was in a
garret; that all the furniture visible was a bed, and a man in the
bed, a table and a chair. On the mantelshelf stood a candlestick
without a candle and a tinder box.

"Who is it?" asked the man in bed.

"I am in search of Sam Semple. Are you Sam Semple?"

"I know that voice." The man sat up. "Is it the voice of Jack
Pentecrosse?"

"The same. What cheer, man?"

For all answer, he burst out crying like a child.

"Oh! Jack," he said, "I am starving. I made up my mind to starve. I
have no longer any clothes. I have not even a candle. I have no money.
I have not even a sheet of paper to write a letter, and I deserve it
all--yes, I deserve it all."

"Why, this is bad. But let me first get you some food. Then we will
talk."

I went downstairs and found a woman, who told me of a shop where I
could get some necessaries, and I presently returned bearing food and
a bottle of wine, some coals and candles, and a warm coat, which I
thought would be useful.

By the light of the candle and the fire I could perceive that the
condition of the unhappy poet was miserable indeed. Never was there a
more wretched den of a garret. The plaster had fallen from the walls;
the window was mostly stuffed with rags in place of glass; in a word,
everything betokened the greatest extremity of poverty. As for the man
himself, he had neither coat, waistcoat, nor shoes. He sat on the bed
half-dressed, but the rest of his wardrobe had been pawned or sold.
There were no books; there were no papers; there was nothing to show
his calling; and there was no sign of food.

At the sight of my basket and its contents the man fell to. With just
such a rage have I seen a sailor picked up at sea from an open boat,
fall upon food and devour it. Nor did Sam finish till he had devoured
the whole of the cold beef and bread--a goodly ration--and swallowed
the whole of the bottle of wine, a generous allowance. Then he
breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and put on the thick coat which I had
bought for him.

"Well," I said, "can we now talk?"

"Jack, you have saved my life; but I shall be hungry again to-morrow.
Lend me a little money."

"I will lend you a guinea or two. But tell me first how came you here?
I thought you were in the confidence of a certain noble lord."

"He is a villain, Jack. He is the greatest villain unhung. Oh! hanging
is too good for him. After all I did for him! The lying villain!"

"What you did for him, Sam, was to give him the chance of ruining the
property of an innocent and helpless girl."

"I gave him the heiress. Was it nothing to promote the daughter of a
plain merchant and make her a countess?"

"Tell me more. What were you to get for it?"

"It was I who invented an excuse for taking my lord and his friends to
Lynn."

"Yes, I understand. You invented the spa. The water in the well----"

"The water is very good water. It could do no harm. I wrote to the
doctor--I invented the analysis, applying it from another. I told him
about the discovery and the things said by the newspapers. There was
no discovery; nobody had heard of the water; no physician sent any of
his patients there; the only visitors from London were my lord and his
friends."

"They were all his friends, then?"

"All. His reverence is in the pay of Beelzebub, I believe. The colonel
is a bully and a gamester--Sir Harry is a well-known decoy--Lady
Anastasia shares her bank with Lord Fylingdale. They were a nest of
sharpers and villains, and their business and mine was to spread
abroad reports of the shining virtue of his lordship."

"All this, or part of it, we found out or guessed. The vicar publicly
denounced you all at his assembly. But what were you to get by it for
yourself?"

"I was to have an appointment under government of £200 a year at
least."

"Well?"

"I was to have it directly after the marriage. That was the promise. I
have it in writing."

"And you have not got it?"

"No; and I shall not get it. When I claimed it his lordship asked me
to read the promise. I showed it him. I had kept it carefully in my
pocketbook. 'On the marriage of Lord Fylingdale with Miss Molly.' What
do you think he said. Oh, villain! villain!"

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Hold there, my friend! On the marriage. Very well, although
I say that I am married to that lady, very oddly the lady swears that
she is not married to me. Now, when that lady acknowledges the
marriage I will fulfill my promise. That is fair, is it not?' Then I
lost my head and forgot his rank and my position, and the next moment
I was kicked into the street by his lackeys without salary, without
anything. Oh, villain! villain!"

It seemed as if there was here some opening--of what nature I knew
not. However I spoke seriously to Sam. I pointed out that in
introducing a broken gamester--a profligate--a man of no honour or
principle, the companion of profligates and gamesters, to the simple
folk of Lynn who were ready to believe anything, he had himself been
guilty of an act more villainous even than the breaking of this
contract. I gave him, however, a guinea for present necessities and I
promised him five guineas more if he would write a history of the
whole business so far as he was concerned. And I undertook to leave
this money with my cousin the bookseller--to be paid over to him on
receiving the manuscript.

This business arranged, I had nothing more to do with London. I had
been, however, as you shall presently learn, more successful than I
myself understood, for I had learned by actual presence the daily life
and conversation of this noble lord and I had laid the foundation for
a proof of the conspiracy to disguise his true character, and, what
was much more important, I had unwittingly fired the mind of the
mysterious woman herself with resentment and jealousy.

CHAPTER XLI

THE FIRST AND THE SECOND CONFEDERATE

We were now, indeed, although we knew it not, very near the end of
these troubles.

I returned with the satisfaction of bringing with me the confession of
the conspiracy which we had long known. Still, it is one thing to know
of a conspiracy, and quite another thing to have a plain confession by
one of the chief conspirators. You may imagine that the poet was not
long in writing out a full and complete confession, and in claiming
the five guineas of my cousin, who took the liberty of reading the
document, and of witnessing his signature before he gave up the money.

"Take it, sir," he said, "if to be a villain is to earn a reward of
five guineas, you have earned that reward. Take it, Judas Iscariot.
Take it, and make a poem on the Wages of Sin if you can."

"You trample on the weak. I am a worm who cannot turn. Still, sir, if
you can find honest employment for a pen which adorns all it
touches----"

"Go, sir. For such as you I have no employment. My poets and authors
may be poor, but they are honest. Get thee out of my sight."

I showed the document first to my father and the vicar.

"So far, well," said the latter. "If proof were needed of a more
wicked conspiracy here it is. But in the main thing we are no more
forward than before, Jack. We are not helped by this writing to the
mystery of the strange woman and her intervention. A strange woman,
indeed; she must be--one such as described by the wise king."

"We shall find her yet. What hold can this spendthrift gamester have
upon the woman--his partner in the crime? Some time or other she will
be tempted to reveal the truth."

"We know not. Women are not as men. They love the most worthless as
well as the most noble." Lady Anastasia had said the same thing.

"Love is like the sunshine, my son. It falls upon good and evil alike,
and, like the sunshine, it may be wasted, or it may be turned to help.
We must not expect to find this woman; we must not count upon her
revenge or her repentance."

"We shall find her, sir, I am certain that we shall find her. The
spendthrift wastes and scatters with a kind of madness. He will soon
finish all, and will have nothing left for his confederates. You see
what one confederate has confessed, having been betrayed by his
master."

Said the vicar: "The sweet singer of Israel ceases not to proclaim the
lesson that all the generations must learn and lay to heart--'I have
seen,' he says, 'the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like
a green bay-tree. Yet he passed away, and, lo! he was not. Yea, I
sought him, and he could not be found.' Patience, therefore, let us
have patience."

He fell into a meditation in which I disturbed him not. After a while
he returned to the business of Sam's written confession, which he held
in his hands.

"It is remarkable," he said, "how this young man, who from his boyhood
was a self-deceiver, imagining himself to be somebody, endeavours to
place his conduct in a light flattering to his self-deception. It is
evident, abundantly, that he has been guided throughout by two
motives, the one as base as the other. The first is revenge for the
wholesome cudgelling which the captain bestowed upon him. It was
administered, I doubt not, with judicial liberality--even erring on
the side of liberality--and he left in the man's mind that longing for
revenge which belongs to the weaker and the baser sort. See, he
writes, 'Since Captain Crowle was resolved to marry his ward above her
station, I was quite sure that he would be grateful to me for the
signal service which he could in no way effect by his own efforts of
raising her from her humble condition to the rank of countess.' He
thus betrays himself. And as to the second motive, he says, 'A poor
man has the right to better himself if he can. It is his duty. I saw a
way, an unexpected and an honourable way.' Listen to the creature. 'I
made the discovery that my patron, by gambling and raking, had become,
as regards his affairs, nothing less than what in a merchant would be
called a bankrupt. That is to say, he had spent all he had, sold all
he could, raised all the money possible on his entailed estates, and
but for his privilege as a peer would now be in a debtor's prison. Yet
he contrived to keep his head above water--I found out how, as
well--and still maintained a brave show, though, by reason of his bad
character, he was not countenanced except by profligates like himself.
I therefore laid open to him a way of restoring his affairs. I offered
to introduce him to a great heiress. At first he did not believe that
there was in any country town an heiress with the fortune that I
described to him. But I gave him some proofs and I promised him more.
Whereupon I made known my condition. As soon as he was married to this
heiress he was to procure for me, by purchase or by influence, a post
under government worth at least £200 a year, with perquisites, or
perhaps a benefice, if I could procure ordination, of which I had no
doubt in thinking of my learning and my character for piety.'"

"Ho!" said my father, "his learning and his piety!"

"'My patron is now master of that fortune and is wasting it as fast as
he can in the old courses. He refuses to keep his promise. Nay, he
hath sold the last preferment in his gift to the highest bidder. It
was a rectory of £350 a year.'"

"This fellow," said the vicar, "knows that his patron is at his last
guinea. He knows him to be a loose liver and a gamester, and he has no
hesitation in conspiring to place this innocent girl, by means of her
simple guardian, in the hands of such a man. Yet he whines and thinks
himself ill-used, and a football of fate. Formerly, he thought himself
the favourite of the Muses. The man is a cur, Jack; he has the cunning
and the cowardice and the treachery of a mongrel cur. Take back his
confession. It may, however, be useful."

"What about the great discovery concerning the spa?"

"Why, Jack, it seems as if he drew his bow and shot an arrow at a
venture, yet hit the bull's eye. The doctor has a book, in which he
inscribes cases of cures effected by the waters of the spa. The book
is well-nigh filled. It is true that this Prince of Liars invented and
pretended the discovery of a spa; it is also true, as we cannot but
believe, that the waters have actually done all that he pretended. He,
therefore, unconsciously, seems to have proclaimed the truth. Let the
thing remain as it is, then. Time will show. The next season's cases
and cures will perhaps establish the reputation of the spa on a more
solid basis even than at present."

Time, as I have already told you, did show, for no one came at all.
The spa was neglected in its second season; in the third it was
forgotten; even the pump room was removed, and only the well remained.
But the doctor, who was bitterly disappointed with the failure, was
never informed concerning the true history of the grand discovery.

It was the perfidy of the chief conspirator to every one who assisted
him which brought about the full exposure of the truth. I have been
careful to let you know at every step the whole truth as we discovered
it afterwards. You have understood the conspiracy from the outset, and
the villainy of all concerned. The woman in the pink silk cloak has
been no mystery to you. Perhaps you admire our simplicity in not
guessing the truth. Reader, you are young, perhaps; or you have been
young. In either case, I am sure that you have experienced the ease
with which a woman, lovely, sympathetic, winning, will, with the
combined aid of her beauty, her voice, her witchcraft, so surround
herself with an imaginary air of truth, sincerity and purity, as to
exclude all possibility of treachery and falsehood. Lady Anastasia had
allowed me to discover, whether by inadvertence or not, that she was
jealous; but what did I know of feminine jealousy and its powers? I
might have known, perhaps, that jealousy implies love, or, at least,
the claim to exclusive possession; but what did I know of the strength
and passion of woman's love? I was young; I was inexperienced; I was a
sailor, ignorant of many common wiles; I was easily moved by a woman,
and I had that universal respect for rank which makes us slow to
believe that a lady of quality can be treated as if it were possible
to suspect her. By the same rule I should, you will say, be equally
unable to regard Lord Fylingdale with suspicion. But we are not always
consistent with ourselves. Besides, his lordship was a man and not a
woman. Rank or no rank, we know that a man is always a man. And, in
addition, he stood between Molly and me.

I have said that we were near the end of our troubles. One after the
other the victims of Lord Fylingdale's perfidy and of their own
wickedness come over, so to speak, to the other side, impelled by rage
and the desire for revenge, and made confession. There were five--I
take them in order. The first was our old friend Sam, whose confession
you have heard; the second was Colonel Lanyon. Like the poet, he also
fell upon evil days; but, less lucky than Sam, he lost his liberty,
and became a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench Prison. When such
an one is arrested and thrown into prison he is in grievous, if not in
hopeless case; for, supposing his brothers or cousins to be in a
responsible position, they are ashamed of one who has led the life of
a gamester and a bully and a decoy. They will not help him to begin
again his old life, and if they are like himself, they want all they
have for their own pleasures--rakes being the most selfish of all
men--and so they will not help him. He wrote, therefore, from his
prison, addressing himself to Captain Crowle as the guardian of the
lady for whose capture their snares were set.

"Sir," he said, "I am a prisoner for debt, lying in the King's Bench,
and likely to remain a prisoner for the rest of my life. I have
cousins who are prosperous. They refuse to assist me. Yet my detaining
creditors are few and the whole amount is ridiculously small,
considering my position and my reputation. That my own cousins should
refuse to release me is, I own, a matter which surprises me, for I
have conferred lustre upon a name hitherto obscure by my gallantry, my
bravery, and my many adventures. It is a heartless world. There are
many honest gentlemen in this place, besides myself, who have found
the world heartless and ungrateful."

"Humph!" said the vicar, in whose presence the captain began to make
out this surprising letter.

"My misfortunes are due to no less a person than my Lord Fylingdale, a
man whose treachery and ingratitude are not equalled, as far as I
know, by the history of any villain that was ever hanged."

"Why," the captain interrupted, "here's a fellow catched in his own
toils. Do you read it, Jack; your eyes are better than mine."

So I took it. "When I consider not only his conduct towards myself,
but his systematic deception towards you, sir, I am moved by
indignation to write to you and to expose a plot in which I had a
hand, but in ignorance. Sir, I would have you know that for many years
I have been in the employ of his lordship. It is not an uncommon
thing, when an officer is broken and cannot find employment for his
sword, to enter the service of some patron, whom he must oblige by all
means in his power. In return, he is safe from arrest, and must take
what wages are given him. My own services were those of a decoy to a
gaming table, in which his lordship held a secret interest, and of a
duellist when my sword would be of use. In the former capacity I
served his lordship for four years faithfully, bringing young
gamesters to the table, luring them on, playing high for their
example, and winning pretended sums for their encouragement. This kind
of service is perfectly well known and understood, so that those who
knew that Lord Fylingdale was my patron, knew also that he had an
interest in the bank. On three or four occasions, when my lord's
honour was attacked, or his conduct resented, I went out for him, and
in all such cases rendered it impossible for his adversary to continue
the quarrel."

"So," said the vicar, "the fellow confesses that he is a murderer, is
he?"

"In the pursuit of his lordship's service I have cheerfully incurred
odium that was rightly his. But this kind of odium ends, as I found,
by blasting the reputation for honour, even of a most honourable man,
such as myself."

"Ha!" cried the vicar.

"This odium now follows me everywhere--from Bath to Tunbridge, and
from Tunbridge to London, so that there are not many gaming-houses
into which I am now suffered to enter, and my company has of late
declined to the level of the 'prentice and the shopkeeper. I have also
been driven off the Heath at Newmarket, charged with corrupting the
trainers; and even at the cockpit I have incurred suspicion as to
doctoring the birds. All--all was in the service of my patron."

"Villain! Villain!" said the vicar.

"In May last I was ordered by my lord to proceed to Lynn Regis, a town
of which I had no knowledge. There was to be a gaming-table, in which,
as usual, he was interested. My duty was again to act as decoy. I was
also, at the same time, to lose no opportunity of representing his
lordship as a miracle of virtue. The reason of these orders I did not
ask. I obeyed, however, although it certainly seemed to me that any
praise of virtue on the part of a gamester like myself would be
received with suspicion.

"As regards the performance of my duties at Lynn I say nothing. The
play was miserably low, in spite of my own example and encouragement.
The company considered a guinea a monstrous sum to lose. The bank made
nothing to speak of. As regards my own private concerns there was but
one man with whom I transacted business worth naming. This, however,
was highly satisfactory, for, from this one person, without raising
the least suspicion, I won as much as £1,200, which was to be raised
upon his estate in the county. Three-fourths of this would go to my
lord. I had not made so successful a haul for many years.

"Now, one morning, after a debauch, much heavy drinking and more
losses, this gentleman, Tom Rising by name, came to me, and confided
to me under the oath of secrecy, his intention of carrying off that
very night the heiress of Lynn, as she was called. If he succeeded, he
would pay the whole of his losses the very next day. If not, he must
wait until the money could be raised. In order to effect this object
he would have to go to Norwich; the business would take time. But he
was sure of success. He could not fail. He further described to me the
plan he had formed, and the place whither he would carry the girl.

"By this time I had formed a pretty good guess of my patron's
intention in coming to Lynn. Accordingly I laid the matter before
him."

"After an oath of secrecy," said the vicar.

"He considered a great while, then he said, 'Colonel, this affair may
turn out the most lucky thing that could possibly happen. Be in the
card room in readiness. We will let the fellow go off with the girl,
then I shall follow and rescue her. Do you understand?'

"I understand that he desired the good grace of the lady, and that
such a rescue could not fail to procure her favour unless he had
already obtained it. 'But,' I said, 'this man is a bull for strength.
He will fight for the girl, and he will be like a mad bull. It is
dangerous.'

"'I will myself,' he replied, 'undertake to tame this bull. Man, do
you suppose that a master of fence can fear the result of an encounter
with a fellow always half drunk and on this occasion, which makes the
thing more easy, more than half mad with rage and disappointment.'

"Sir, you know the rest. The abduction of the lady was known
beforehand by my lord and myself. He might have stopped it, but that
he wanted the honour and the glory of the rescue."

"There is no end or limit to the villainy of the pair," said the
vicar.

"The next day, Tom Rising having a sword wound in the right shoulder,
I waited upon his lordship. I pointed out that the serious wound
inflicted on Mr. Rising had brought his life in danger; that even if
he recovered, his old friends, who were very angry with him for the
attempted abduction, would have no more to do with him; that, from all
I had heard, he would with difficulty raise so much money as he owed
me upon an estate already dipped; that he had other creditors; and
that one result of the business was that we had possibly lost £1,200
or a good part of it, of which one-fourth, or £300, would have been my
share, and I asked my lord, point blank, if he thought I could afford
to lose £300.

"My lord laughed pleasantly. 'Shall a trifle of £300 part two old
friends, colonel? Not so; not so. When I marry this heiress, not £300,
but a thousand shall be yours. Remember, write it down. It is a
promise. After my marriage I will give you a clear thousand to repay
your losses and expenses.'

"This was a promise on which I relied. And you may imagine my
satisfaction when I heard that my lord had been married privately at
six in the morning. I waited on him at once for the money. 'Patience,
man,' he said, 'I must first touch it myself. I cannot get at the
money without certain forms. There shall be no needless delay.' So I
refrained.

"I had been put to heavy expenses by going to Lynn and living there. I
had to keep up the outward appearance of substance; I threw money
about; I ordered bowls of punch; I lost over a hundred pounds in
establishing my credit on a firm basis; I won nothing to speak of,
except from Tom Rising. In the end I was publicly insulted and exposed
by a vulgar beast called Gizzard, after his low trade. This was in the
presence of Tom Rising himself, who thereupon swore that he would pay
me nothing. The world is full of men always ready to repudiate their
debts of honour."

"It is, indeed," said the vicar, "and of men who do not act in
accordance with the laws of honour."

"Sir, you will hardly believe me. My lord now refuses to pay even my
expenses. He owes me a thousand pounds promised as my share in the
business. I have spent one hundred pounds in establishing my credit
and another hundred for my personal expenses--in all, £1,200.

"Now, sir, I have a proposition to make. I know the dispute about the
alleged marriage. I believe there was a personation and that I know
the woman who personated your deeply-injured ward in the church. Pay
me £1,200 and I will name her."

"Softly," said the vicar. "To name the lady is not to prove the
personation."

"You cannot hesitate," the letter went on. "Already I am sure my lord
has wasted ten times that sum. I hear from all sides that he is like
one who squanders an inexhaustible treasure. Send me this money and I
will put you in the way of exposing him to the world as a conspirator
and of putting a stop to further robbery. You shall at least be
enabled to save what is left.

"As you may require a few days to deliberate over this proposal I beg
you to let me have by the first opportunity a few guineas in advance.
Otherwise I shall have to part with my clothes. In my line of life a
good appearance is essential. Should I be driven to that necessity I
shall indeed be ruined for life, because I shall have to go over to
the common side where my accomplishments and skill will be of no use
whatever to me."

"He means that you cannot get any profit by cheating at play those who
have nothing. Is that all, Jack?"

"That is all." I folded the letter and gave it to the captain.

"To name the lady, I say," the vicar repeated, "is not to prove the
crime. It might, however, suggest an explanation to the mystery. The
letter proves that there is an explanation. Still, captain, my opinion
is that the writer of this letter should receive no answer. There is
no hardship before him which he has not deserved. Let him lie in his
prison and repent. 'Let the wicked be ashamed and let them be silent
in the grave. Let the lying lips be put to silence.' Captain, let us
have no traffic with this ungodly man. Let him henceforth be silent in
his grave."

CHAPTER XLII

THE THIRD AND THE FOURTH CONFEDERATE

The voice of the third confederate followed. It was a voice from the
tomb. Sir Harry Malyns, the poor old butterfly who had lived for nigh
upon eighty years in the world of fashion; who had spent his
patrimony, and had, in the end, been reduced to the miserable work of
a decoy, as you have heard, was at last summoned to render an account
of his life. What an account to render! So many thousand nights at the
gaming-table; so many thousand at suppers and after; so many
debauches; so many days of idle talk; the whole of his long life
devoted to the pursuit of pleasure, as the people of fashion call
pleasure. However, the old man was at last seized with a mortal
illness; at the approach of death some of the scales fell from his
eyes; his former ideas of honour came back to him. He repented of his
degradation as the secret servant of Lord Fylingdale; he repented of
his share in the deception which led to the promise, if not the
performance, of marriage between his patron and Miss Molly.

And he dictated to some one, who attended him in his last moments, a
brief note which was accepted in the spirit of forgiveness, which he
desired.

The communication was addressed to Captain Crowle. "The following
words," it was written, "were in substance dictated by the late Sir
Harry Malyns in his last illness, namely, the day before he became
unconscious, in which condition he lingered for forty-eight hours,
when he breathed his last."

There was neither signature, nor was the place of the deceased
gentleman's last illness indicated. The following were the words
dictated:

"I, Sir Harry Malyns, baronet, being now, I believe, at the point of
death, am greatly troubled in my conscience over the part I played in
the deception of Captain Crowle, of King's Lynn; his ward, Miss Molly;
and the people of the place, as to the character and principles of the
Earl of Fylingdale. I very soon discovered his design in going to the
town, and his hopes of securing the fortune of the lady called the
heiress of Lynn. My own part, to deceive his friends in the way
indicated, I performed with zeal, being but the creature and servant
of his lordship, with no hope of help from any other quarter, should I
lose his patronage. It was a most dishonourable part to play, unworthy
of my name and of my family. I desire to convey to the young lady my
humble request for her forgiveness, and my hope that a way may be
found for her out of the toils spread for her by myself and others,
his creatures and servants.

"There is, I learn, a denial on the lady's part as to her marriage at
all. Of this I know nothing. But I am assured in my own mind that if
this denial involves any act of treachery, perfidy, fraud, or
conspiracy on the part of his lordship, on that account alone, and
without considering the many virtues, the candour, truth, and
innocence of the lady, I should accept her denial. But in this
crowning act of treachery, I rejoice that I have had neither part nor
lot."

There was no signature, but there seemed no reason to entertain a
doubt as to the genuine character of the communication. The old man on
his deathbed returned to a late recognition of the laws of honour and
a late repentance.

"He was a poor creature," said the vicar. "He was entirely made up of
stays and wig and powder. He ought to have been taken about the
country in order to show the world the true meaning of a fribble and a
beau. It is, however, something to his credit that in the end he
remembered the old tradition, and saw himself as he was. Pray Heaven
that his repentance was thorough!"

"Let us at least forgive him," said Molly. "He seemed a harmless old
gentleman. One would never have thought him capable of acting so
dishonourable a part. But he repented. We must forgive him."

"Meantime, we are no nearer the mysterious woman who personated you,
Molly; nor do we understand why she did it; nor do we understand how
it was done."

A week later came another letter. This time it was from the Rev.
Benjamin Purdon, A.M. It was a truly impudent letter, worthy of the
man and his character.

    "TO CAPTAIN CROWLE.

    "SIR,--I have hesitated for some time whether to address you on
    the subject of your ward's pretended marriage with my late patron,
    Lord Fylingdale. I say pretended because I am in a position to
    expose the whole deception. I can place you in possession of the
    whole of the facts. They are simple; they cannot be denied or
    disproved. Your ward was not in the church at all; she was not
    married; her place was taken by a woman who personated her,
    appearing in your ward's dress, namely, a pink silk cloak, the
    hood thrown over her head. I, who performed the ceremony, was
    deceived. That is to say, I was told the name of the bride and
    there was nothing to awaken any suspicions. At this point, and as
    a proof that part of this story is true, I would ask your ward to
    write her name in full, and I would then ask you to compare that
    writing with the signature in the registers."

"Are we stupid?" cried the vicar. "Have we been struck with judicial
stupidity? Let us instantly, without any delay, proceed to this test.
Molly, my dear, get paper, pen and ink.... So--now sit at the table.
Write your name as you usually write it when you sign a letter."

"But I never write any letters," said Molly.

"She writes the names on the pots of pickles and the preserved fruit,"
said the captain. "Come, Molly, you can sign your name."

The girl blushed and seized the pen. It was not with the pen of a
ready writer that she wrote, in a clumsy hand--a hand unaccustomed to
such writing--her name "Molly Miller."

"Is this your best writing, Molly?"

"Indeed, sir, I am ashamed that it is no better. At school I learned
better, but I have so little occasion to write."

"So long as it is the signature you would use in the church, it will
serve," said the vicar. "Come, let us to St. Nicholas at once, and
send for the clerk. We will examine these registers, and we will read
the rest of the letter afterwards."

The chest was unlocked; the registers were taken out; the books were
opened at the right page. The vicar laid Molly's writing beside that
of the register.

"You see," said the vicar, "the very signature proclaims the cheat. We
have been, of a verity, seized with judicial blindness for our sins."

The differences were not such as could be explained away, for the
signature in the book was round and full and flowing--a bold signature
for a woman--every letter well formed and of equal size, and in a
straight line; the work of one who wrote many letters, and prided
herself, apparently, on the clearness and beauty of her hand. Molly's,
on the other hand, showed letters awkwardly formed, not in line, of
unequal height, and the evident work of one unaccustomed to writing.

"What doubt have we now?" asked the vicar. "My friends, I see
daylight. But let us return to complete my reverend brother's letter."

The letter thus continued:

    "You have now, I take it, satisfied yourself that your ward could
    not possibly have penned that signature. You have no doubt, if you
    had any before, that your ward's denial was the truth.

    "At the same time you do not appear to have considered the matter
    worth fighting. It was not, for assuredly a court of justice, even
    with the handwriting as evidence, would have decided against you.
    So far, you were well advised.

    "You, therefore, withdrew opposition, and suffered the husband to
    take over, what he claimed, control of the estate.

    "From what I am informed, he is pursuing a course of mad riot, in
    which he alone sits cold and composed, as is his wont, for the
    contemplation of wickedness in action is more to his taste than
    becoming an actor himself; he is also playing and losing heavily.
    Therefore, I have every reason to believe that he will before long
    get through the estate of his so-called wife. I hope he will,
    because he will then have nothing left at all, and the last state
    of that man will be as miserable as he deserves."

"This man, too, has his revenge in sight," said the vicar.

    "I come now to the main point. I do not suppose that more than the
    third, or so, of your ward's fortune has yet been wasted. I will
    enable you to save the rest.

    "For a certain consideration, I need not write down its nature, my
    noble patron promised to pay me £12,000 on his marriage with this
    heiress. It is a large sum of money, but the service I rendered
    was worth more."

"It was his own confederacy, I suppose."

    "For the honour of the British aristocracy I regret to inform you
    that Lord Fylingdale repudiates the contract. He says that I may
    take any steps I please, but he refuses to pay. That the
    consideration--but I need not go on; in a word, he will give me
    nothing.

    "Under these circumstances I will expose the whole affair, and put
    an end, at least, to his further depredations. If, therefore, you
    take over this obligation upon yourself I am prepared to draw up
    an account of the whole business; the personation of your ward,
    the reasons and the manner of it, and an explanation of the very
    remarkable coincidence--so remarkable as to seem impossible--of
    the substitution of one woman for another at a moment's notice. I
    further promise that this information will at once turn the
    tables; that you can refuse to let his lordship interfere further
    with your ward's estate; and that you can take steps to declare
    the so-called marriage null and void. Nothing shall be left for
    explanation; all shall be quite simple and straightforward; and I
    can put evidence in your hands which you little suspect.

    "Further, I promise and engage to ask for nothing until I have
    proved all that has to be proved and have established the fact
    that your ward was not married by me.

    "You can send me twenty-five guineas in advance. It can go to
    London to the coach office of the 'Swan with Four Necks,' where I
    will call for it.

    "I am, naturally, after so great a disappointment, much in want of
    money, therefore I shall be obliged if you will make the advance
    fifty instead of twenty-five guineas.

    "(Signed) BENJAMIN PURDON,

    "Clerk in Holy Orders."

We looked at each other in silence.

"To procure thy freedom, Molly," said the vicar, taking her hand,
"there is nothing which we would not do--that honest men dare to do.
But let us not be drawn away from our duty. We will have no part nor
lot nor any traffic with rogues. This man is an arch rogue. This
letter is the letter of a villain, who is, one would say--the Lord
forgive me for saying so of a fellow sinner!--beyond the power of
repentance and beyond the hope of forgiveness. Patience, Molly, I
think that we shall soon be rewarded--even with the loss of all thy
worldly goods."

CHAPTER XLIII

THE FIFTH AND LAST CONFEDERATE

And then came the final revelation--the confession of the fifth and
last confederate--which cleared up the whole mystery and explained
that which, with one consent, we had all declared to be wholly
unintelligible.

The counsel learned in the law gave his written opinion that,
considering that the marriage ceremony was fixed for 6 A.M.,
the bridegroom had no knowledge of the bride's intention not to
present herself; that he left his lodgings a few minutes before six;
that a few minutes after six, one Pentecrosse, well known to the lady,
witnessed the marriage ceremony and believed the bride to be the lady
in question, dressed as she was accustomed to dress, although he did
not see her face; that the parish clerk also recognised the lady; that
the clergyman was ready to swear that the bride was the lady; and that
the register showed her signature. There could be no change whatever
of success in disputing or denying the marriage.

The vicar, perceiving the weight of evidence, and adding to it the
apparent impossibility of procuring at a moment's notice the
personation of the bride, reluctantly advised submission, while being
firmly persuaded that Molly and her mother had spoken the truth, and
that there was devilry somewhere.

We submitted, with what results you have seen.

It is, I believe, a rule that some playwriters, where they have a plot
with a mystery or a secret in it, to keep the audience in ignorance,
and so to heighten their interest, until the revelation in the last
act clears up the mystery and relieves the spectators of their
suspense. Others, again, allow the audience to understand at the
outset that their heroine or hero is the victim of villainy, but do
not explain the full nature of that villainy until the end, when the
plots of the wicked are brought to light.

I have told this tale without the art of the playwright. I have shown
you exactly how things happened, though we only discovered the truth
long afterwards. For instance, you know already what was the full
explanation of the marriage which I witnessed; you know the surprise
with which the bridegroom discovered the truth, and you know besides
the impudent use which, by the advice of the Reverend Benjamin Purdon,
was made of that discovery. Also you know the reason of the
personation and the person by whose indiscreet chattering it became
possible.

I have now to tell you how we ourselves discovered the truth.

After the arrival of the letters already described, nothing new was
learned for some months. That is to say, Colonel Lanyon wrote no more;
the Reverend Mr. Purdon, though he continued to write letters which
threatened concealment and offered exposure, alternately; though his
demand for money dropped with every letter until he had become a mere
beggar, offering to reveal the whole in return for the relief of his
present necessities; gave no hint of the nature of the exposure he
desired to sell. But he had received, so far, no reply to any of his
letters.

Between January and June my ship made another voyage to Lisbon and
back. When I landed, what I had to learn was the continual
solicitation of Mr. Purdon, and the continual waste of the fortune.
The demand for money never ceased. "Send up more money--more
money--more money. His lordship is in urgent want of more money."

By this time a whole year had passed since the pretended marriage and
our submission. Never was a magnificent property so destroyed and
diminished in so short a time. Farms, lands, houses were sold for what
they would fetch--at half their value--a quarter of their value. All
the money out at mortgage had been called in--all the money received
at the quay and the counting-house had been sent to his lordship's
attorneys. In one short twelvemonth the destruction had been such that
in June there was actually nothing left--nothing out of that princely
fortune, except the fleet of ships and the general business. "And now,
Mr. Pentecrosse," said the manager (lately clerk and accountant) "the
end draweth nigh. A few more weeks or months and this great shipping
firm, near a hundred years old, which hath sent its ships all about
the world; the most important house outside London and Bristol, will
put up its shutters and close its door. Alas! The pity of it! The pity
of it!"

"But," I said, "this spendthrift lord, this waster and devourer,
surely will not destroy the very spring and fountain of this wealth."

"I know not. He seems possessed with a devil." Here the manager was
wrong, because he was possessed of seven devils. "His waste is nothing
short of madness. It seems as if he was unable to look before him,
even in such a simple matter as the origin of the money, which he has
obtained by marriage--if he is married--and is now wasting as fast as
he can."

It is in no way profitable, unless one is a divine, to search into the
heart of the wicked man. The psalmist, who was continually troubled by
considering the ways of the ungodly, supplies us with sufficient
guidance as to his mind and his thoughts. In the case of Lord
Fylingdale, I would compare him with the highwaymen and common thieves
in one particular, namely, that they seem to have no power of thrift
or of prudence, but must continually waste and devour what they
acquire without honest labour. It is as if they understood that their
way of life being uncertain, and the end at any time possible, their
only chance of enjoyment is the present moment. Now, Lord Fylingdale
was using the proceeds of an enormous robbery obtained by a fraud of
incredible audacity. I think he felt the uncertainty of his hold. It
depended on the silence of two persons. Should these two persons unite
in revealing the conspiracy he would at least be able to rob no
longer. Now, he had already alienated both of them. The one he had
filled with a passion for revenge; the other ... but you shall hear. I
think, moreover, that he found a gambler's joy in the handling of
large sums and playing with them; that he kept no account of the money
he lost; and that, with his companions, he kept a kind of open house
at certain taverns for the debauches over which he presided, without
condescending in person to join the drunken orgy. Did he find a
strange enjoyment in the debauchery of others? Men have been known--I
cannot understand it--to delight in torturing other men and in
witnessing their agonies; men might also--I know not how--take a
delight in witnessing orgies and in listening to the discourses of
drunken rakes. But it is not profitable, as I said, to dwell upon the
mind of such a man.

It was on the 15th of June--I remember the date well--and shall always
remember it. _The Lady of Lynn_ had arrived two days before, and we
were moored off the quay. At ten o'clock, or thereabouts, one of the
stable boys from the house came aboard bringing a message for me. A
lady, lodging at the "Crown," desired to see me immediately. The lady
had arrived in the evening in a post-chaise, having with her a maid.
She had given no name, but in the morning had asked if my ship was in
port, and on learning that it was she desired that a boy from the
stables might carry this message to me.

I landed at our own quay--I say our own, but it was no longer ours,
that is, Molly's quay. At the door of the counting-house stood the
manager in conversation with the captain of one of our ships. He
beckoned me to speak with him. When he had finished his discourse with
the captain he turned to me.

"Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "the worst has now begun. Tell Captain
Crowle--I should choke if I had to tell him. Alas! poor man! It seems
as if the work of his life was ruined and destroyed." So saying he
handed me a letter to read. It was from my lord's attorneys, Messrs.
Bisse and Son. "I suppose," said the manager, "that they are really
acting for his lordship. Their power of attorney cannot be denied, can
it? Mr. Redman says that there is nothing for it but obedience."

The letter was short:

    "We have noted your information conveyed in the last schedule. You
    are now instructed to proceed with the sale of one of the ships.
    Let her be sold as she stands on arriving in port with so much of
    the cargo as belongs to your house. My lord is urgently pressed
    for money, and begs that there may be no delay. Meantime send a
    draft by the usual channel for money in hand.

    "Your obedient servants,

    "BISSE AND SON."

"A draft for monies in hand!" cried the manager. "There are no monies
in hand! And I have to sell without delay a tall ship, cargo and all,
as she stands. Without delay! Who is to buy that ship--without delay?"

I returned him the letter and shook my head. My ship, perhaps, was the
one to be sold. She was the latest arrival; she was filled with wine;
the cargo belonged altogether to the house. So I should be turned
adrift when just within hail, so to speak, of becoming a captain. I
could say nothing in consolation or in hope. I walked away, my heart
as heavy as lead. Never before had I felt the true meaning of this
ruin and waste. All around me the noble edifice built by Molly's
grandfather and her father, and continued by her guardian, had been
pulled down bit by bit. But one felt the loss of a farm or a house
very little. It was not until the ships, too, were threatened, that
the full enormity of the thing--the incredible wickedness of the
conspirators, was borne in upon my mind. It threatened to ruin me, you
see, as well as Molly.

Therefore, I walked across the market-place to the Crown Inn more
gloomy in my mind than I can describe. Hitherto, somehow, a ship
seemed safe; no one would interfere with a ship; like Lord Fylingdale
himself, I was ready to ask whether a ship could be bought and sold.
That is to say, I knew that she was often bought and sold, but I never
thought that any of Molly's ships--any other ships as much as you
please, but not Molly's ship--could be brought to the hammer.

The lady sent word that she would receive me. Imagine my surprise! She
was none other than the Lady Anastasia. She was greatly changed in six
months. I had seen her last, you remember, in January, when I met her
in the park. She was then finely dressed, and appeared in good case,
what we call a buxom widow--in other words, a handsome woman, with a
winning manner and a smiling face. This she was when I met her. When I
left her on that occasion she was a handsome woman marred with a
consuming wrath.

Now, I should hardly have known her. She was plainly attired, without
patches or paint, wearing a grey silk dress. But the chief change was
not in her dress, but in her face. She was pale, and her cheeks were
haggard. She looked like a woman who had recently suffered a severe
illness, and was, indeed, not yet fully recovered.

"Jack," she advanced, giving me her hand with her old graciousness,
"you are very good to come when I call. It is the last time that you
will obey any call from me."

"Why the last time, madam?"

"Because, Jack, I am now going to make you my bitter enemy. Yes, my
enemy for life." She tried to smile, but her eyes grew humid. "I can
never be regarded henceforth as anything else. You will despise
me--you will curse me. Yet I must needs speak."

"Madam, I protest--I know not what you mean."

"And I, Jack, I protest--know not how to begin. Do you remember last
January, when we talked together? Let me begin there. Yes; it will be
best to begin there. I do not think I could begin at the other end. It
would be like a bath of ice-cold water in January."

"I remember our conversation, madam."

"You told me--what was it you told me? Something about a certain box,
or case of jewels."

"Molly's jewels. Yes, I told you how his lordship seized upon them at
the first when he claimed control over Molly's fortune."

"You told me that. It was in January. He had seized upon them six
months before. The thing surprised me. He had always told me that he
could not get those jewels--and Jack, you see, they were my own."

"Yours, madam? But--they were Molly's."

"Not at all. Molly, after her marriage, had nothing. All became my
lord's property. The jewels were mine, Jack--mine by promise and
compact."

I understood nothing.

"I have seen in France, the women kneeling at the boxes where they
confess to the priest. Jack, will you be my priest? I can confess to
you what I could never confess to Molly--though I have wronged
her--Jack! Oh! my priest----" Here she fell on her knees and clasped
her hands. "No--no," she cried. "I will not rise. On my knees, on my
knees--not to ask your pardon, but for the shame and the disgrace and
the villainy."

"Madam--I pray--I entreat."

I took her by both hands. I half lifted her and half assisted her. She
sank into an armchair sobbing and crying, and covered her face with
her hands. She was not play acting. No--no--it was real sorrow--true
shame. Oh! there was revenge as well. No doubt there was revenge. If
she had been wicked, she had also been wronged. Presently she
recovered a little. Then she sat up and began to talk.

"I am the most miserable woman in the world--and I deserve my misery.
Jack, when you go back to your ship, fall on your knees and thank God
that you are poor and that Molly has been robbed of her fortune and is
also poor. Oh! to be born rich--believe me--it is a thing most
terrible. It makes men become like Lord Fylingdale, who have nothing
to do but to follow pleasure--such pleasure! Ah! merciful heaven! such
pleasure! And it makes women, Jack, like me. We, too, follow pleasure
like the men--we become gamblers--there is no pleasure for me like the
pleasure of gambling; we fall in love for the pleasure and whim of
it--till we are slaves to men who treat us worse than they treat their
dogs--worse than they treat their lackeys. Then we forget honour and
honesty; then we throw away reputation and good name; we accept
recklessly shame and dishonour. My name has become a byword--but what
of that? I have been a man's slave--I have done his bidding."

"But how, madam"--still I understood very little of this talk, yet
became suspicious when she spoke thus of the jewels--"how came Molly's
jewels to be your own?"

"I tell you, Jack. By promise and compact. I must go back to another
discourse with you. It was on a certain evening a year ago. You had
made the fine discovery that Lord Fylingdale was a gamester and the
rest of it. You told me. You also told me that Molly would not keep
her promise, and would certainly not be at the church in the morning.
Do you remember?"

"I remember that we talked about things."

"We did. Go back a month or two earlier. By a most monstrous deception
I was brought here. I was told first that it was in order to further
some political object, which I did not believe; next, to help him in
getting the command of this money--some women, I said, easily lose
their sense of honour and of truth when they want to please their
lovers. As for marriage, he declared for the hundredth time that there
was but one woman in all the world whom he would marry--myself. Now do
you understand? He had deceived me. Very well, then I would deceive
him. At first my purpose was to await in the church the coming of the
bride and expose the character of the man. Since she was not coming I
would take her place."

"What? It was you, then--you--you?"

"Yes, Jack. I was the woman you saw at the rails. I had a pink silk
cloak like that of Molly; I am about the same height as Molly. I wore
a domino as had been arranged. You took me for Molly."

"But--if you were the bride----"

"I was the bride. I am the Countess of Fylingdale--for my sins and
sorrows--his wretched wife."

"But you would be revenged, and yet you suffered this monstrous
fraud."

"I was revenged. Yet--why did I say nothing? Did I not say that you
could never forgive me. Well, I have no excuse, only I said that
women, like me, with nothing to do, sometimes go mad after a man and
for his sake cast away honour and care nothing for shame and
ill-repute. I say, Jack," she repeated, earnestly, "that I make no
excuse--I tell you nothing but the plain truth. Lord! how ugly it is!"

I said nothing, I only stood still waiting for more.

"When I took off my domino in the vestry, my lord, with the man
Purdon, only being present, he was like a madman. That I expected.
After raging for a while and crying out that he was now ruined indeed,
and after cursing Mr. Purdon for not destroying the registers, he
listened to Mr. Purdon's advice that we should consider a way out of
it. Accordingly, in my lodgings, the man Purdon, who is the greatest
inventor and encourager of every evil thing that lives, set forth the
ease with which this marriage could be claimed, unless there was any
obstacle such as sudden illness which might be proved to have made
Molly's presence impossible. In other words, we were to assure the
unfortunate Molly that she was already married, and we were to act as
if that was the fact. We ascertained without trouble that she had not
left the house that morning. How? We sent the music to congratulate
the bride, and the captain sallied forth in his wrath and drove them
off."

"And to this you consented, out of your passion for the man?"

"Partly. There is always more than one reason for a woman's action. In
this case there was a bribe. I confess that I have always ardently
desired jewels. I cannot have too many jewels. He promised, Jack, that
I should have them all. Perhaps--I do not know--the promise of the
jewels decided me. Oh! Jack, they were wonderful! No such bribe was
ever offered to a woman before."

I gazed upon her with amazement. Truly, an explanation complete! Yet,
what a confession for a proud woman to make! Love that made her
trample on honour and truth and virtue, and a bribe to quicken her
footsteps!

"And now," I said, "you are willing to make this story public."

"I have thought about the business a good deal. It has caused me more
annoyance than you would believe." ("Annoyance!" She spoke of
"annoyance!") "Besides, I have been cruelly abused. I have been the
cause of that poor girl losing a great part--perhaps the whole--of her
fortune. I have been robbed of the jewels. He swore to me, a dozen
times, that he has never had them. I may by tardy confession save
something from the wreck for that poor girl. He has wronged me in
every way--in ways that no woman will, or can, forgive. I revenge my
wrongs by making him a beggar a few weeks, or months, before he can
come to the end of his money."

So in this distracted way she talked till one could not tell whether
she was most moved by the thought of revenge, or by pity for Molly, or
by a wholesome repentance of her sin.

"Jack," she said, "your honest face is pulled out as long as my arm. I
could laugh if I were not so miserable. Tell me what I should do next.
Mind, I will do exactly what you bid me do. I have lived so long among
kites, hawks, crows, and birds of prey, with foul creatures and
crawling reptiles, that merely to talk to an honest man softens and
subdues me. Take me in the humour, Jack. To-morrow, or next day,
should the idea of the man possess my soul again; if he should stand
over me and take my hand, I know not--I know not what would happen.
Perhaps, even for Molly's sake, I could not resist him. I am but a
poor, weak, miserable woman. And he has led me hither, and sent me
thither, and made me his slave so long, that he has become part of my
life. Quick, then, Jack! Tell me what to do."

"Come with me," I said.

So she wrapped herself in a long cloak--not of pink silk--and she put
on a domino and I led her to Mr. Redman's office. And here I begged
her to let me set down in writing what she had told me but in fewer
words, while Mr. Redman stood over me and read what I wrote and as I
wrote it.

"The story, your ladyship," he said, "is the most remarkable that I
have ever heard. You will now, in the presence of witnesses--my clerk
and one whom he will bring from the customhouse will serve. So--they
will sign without knowing what the paper contains."

So she signed in the same bold running hand that we had seen in the
registers.

"What next?" she asked.

"Why, madam, we have to consider the next step. It is obvious that the
confession removes the whole of the difficulty, and explains what has
hitherto seemed inexplicable. How, it was asked, could the place of
the bride be filled at the last moment, and without previous knowledge
that it would have to be filled? And who was the woman thus duly
married and actually, though under a false name, made Countess of
Fylingdale, who did not step forward and claim her rights? Now, madam,
the question is answered. You knew, but my lord did not know, that the
bride could not come to the church. You were there, therefore, to take
her place. You joined in this conspiracy, and kept silence for the
reasons contained in this document."

"Quite so. And now, sir. What next? Will you bring my lord to justice?
Shall I have to give evidence against him?"

"Madam, I know not. You have done your best, not so much to repair a
great wrong as to stop further wrong. If I understand matters aright
it will be impossible to recover anything that has been taken."

"You might as well hope to recover a sack of coals that have been
burned."

"Therefore, what we have to do first, is to stop further pillage.
Next, I apprehend, we must make it clear that your signature in the
register was false."

Lady Anastasia rose and put on her domino again.

"I am going back to London, sir. Mr. Pentecrosse knows my house where
I am to be heard of for the present. It was a bad day's work when I
was married in that pink silk cloak. It may prove a worse day's work
when I confessed."

"Nay, madam," I said quietly, "can it be a bad day's work to stop a
cruel and unfeeling robbery?"

"I have done my part, gentlemen, for good or for ill. In a few weeks
or months the man would have beggared himself as well as that poor
girl. Now he is beggared already. I know not what he will do, nor
whither he will turn."

So I led her back to the Crown and that same day she took her
departure and I have never seen her since. One letter, it is true, I
had from her of which I will tell you in due course.

Then I returned to Mr. Redman.

"Jack," he said, "I am going without further discussion to warn the
manager not to send any more money to these attorneys and to disregard
their orders. I shall write at once warning them that we have now in
our hands clear proof that my client is not married to Lord
Fylingdale, and that we are considering in what manner we should
proceed with regard to the large sums that have been remitted to his
orders. This, Jack, is the way of lawyers. We write such a letter
knowing that we shall not proceed further in this direction, for the
scandal would be very great and the profit would be very small.
Besides, there is the awkward fact that we made no protest, but
submitted. Yet sure and certain I am that the other side will not dare
to go into court, being conscious of guilt, yet not knowing how much
we have learned."

"It seems a tame ending that villainy should get off unpunished."

"Not unpunished, Jack. You young men look to see the lightning strike
the wicked man. That is not the way, believe me. He never goes
unpunished, though he may be forgiven. I look not for the flash of
lightning to strike this man dead, but I look for the vengeance of the
Lord--perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow."

He read over again the paper signed by Lady Anastasia. "It is a
strange confession," he said. "There is the wrath of a jealous woman
in it. He might have beaten her and cuffed her; he might have robbed
her; and she would have forgiven him. But he has followed after
strange goddesses. She spoke about the jewels. I suppose that he has
long since given them to these strange goddesses. Hence her
repentance. Hence her revenge. Jack, I think we ought to have the
other confederate's confession--that of the man Purdon. He wanted
£12,000 for it at first. He then came down to £6,000; he now offers it
for relief of his present necessities. I will send my attorney to see
him. The vicar refuses to have any dealings with scoundrels. In this
case, however, it might be politic to traffic with him. We will offer
him £100 for a full confession. I will instruct my attorney what
particulars to expect."

My story is nearly finished. Molly recovered her freedom with the loss
of by far the greater part of her fortune. She had, indeed, nothing
left except her fleet and the trade carried on by the firm in which
she was sole partner. Still she remained the richest woman in the
town.

There was no difficulty in procuring from the Reverend Mr. Purdon a
full statement of the conspiracy. It was, of course, to be expected
that he should represent Lord Fylingdale as the contriver and the
proposer of the abominable design. However, he gave under safeguards
of witness and signature a plain recital of what had happened, in
which he was borne out by the other confession in our hands.

And here follows the letter from the Lady Anastasia.

"My dear Jack," she said, "news reaches Lynn slowly if it gets there
at all. Therefore I hasten to inform you that an end has come--perhaps
the end that you would desire. My lord is no more. I am a widow. Yet I
mourn not. My husband in name during the last twelve months has acted
as one no longer in command of himself. I cannot think, indeed, that
he has been in his right mind since he entered upon that great crime
of which you know. He would have gone from bad to worse, and I should
have suffered more and still more. He killed himself. He placed the
muzzle of a pistol within his mouth and so killed himself.

"It was yesterday. I went to see him. I had to tell him what I had
done. I expected he would kill me. Perhaps it would have been better
had he done so.

"I found him with his attorney, a man named Bisse, whom I have seen
with him frequently.

"'Pray, madam, take a chair. I am your humble servant. You can go, Mr.
Bisse,' said my lord. 'You have my instructions. Order the manager to
proceed with the sale of the ships.'

"'With submission, my lord. We can send him orders, but we can only
make him obey by proceeding according to law. He finds excuses. He
makes delays. He talks of sacrificing the ships to a forced sale.'

"'You will not proceed according to law, my lord,' I told him.

"'Why, madam?'

"'Because I have been to Lynn myself, and have explained certain
points in connection with the marriage service in St. Nicholas
church.'

"My lord looked at me in his cold way, as if neither surprised nor
moved.

"'Mr. Bisse,' he said, 'I will communicate again with you.' So the
attorney left us. Then he turned again to me.

"'My lord,' I repeated, 'I have made a statement of all the facts.'

"'I thank you, madam. I thank you with all my heart. Let me not detain
you.'

"He said no more, and I rose. But the door was thrown open, and Mr.
Purdon walked in without being announced.

"'Ha!' he said, seeing me, 'we are all three, then, together again. My
lord, I will not waste your time. I have come to explain that since
you have refused to perform your compact, you cannot complain if I
have broken up the whole business.'

"'I thought I had ordered you out of my presence, sir.'

"'So you did. So you did. I have only come to say that I have this day
drawn up a full confession of the conspiracy into which I was drawn by
your lordship, deceived against my better judgment by the promise of a
large sum of money.'

"Lord Fylingdale pointed to the door. 'You can go, sir,' he said. So
the man Purdon obeyed and went away.

"Then he turned to me. 'Anastasia, we were friends once. I treated you
shamefully in the matter of the jewels. Things have gone badly with me
of late. I seem to have no luck. Perhaps I have, somehow, lost my
judgment. That money has done me no good. Curse that scoundrel, Sam
Semple! It is all over now. The game has been played. I have lost, I
suppose. But every game comes to an end at last.' He talked unlike
himself. 'You can go, Anastasia. You had better leave me. You have had
your revenge. Let that consideration console you.'

"I said no more, but left him. It was in the afternoon. An hour later
his people heard an explosion--they ran to find the cause. Lord
Fylingdale was lying dead on the floor.

"So, Jack, we are all punished, and none of us can complain. For my
own part I am going into the country where I have a small dower house.
The solitude and the dullness will, I dare say, kill me, but I do not
care about living any longer.--ANASTASIA."

She did, however, pass into a better mind. For I heard some time after
that she had married the dean of the neighbouring cathedral, not under
the name of Lady Fylingdale, which she never assumed, but that of her
first husband.

As to the other confederates, the poet, the colonel, and the parson, I
never heard anything more about them. Nor do I expect now that I ever
shall.

The rest of Molly's history, dear reader, belongs to me and not to the
world.

Transcriber's note:

Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected
without note.

Dialect spellings, contractions and inconsistencies have been
retained as printed.