Chapter Eight.

Chapter Eight.The Young Heiress.—Harry Comes Out in London not under the best of auspices.Mr Musgrave threw himself into his arm-chair, and crossing his legs, with a frown of thought on his brow, looked over Dr Jessop’s notes. “I will go down to-morrow,” he said, turning to Paul, who stood before him eagerly watching his countenance, as if he could there read the probable fate of his beloved young mistress. “I cannot possibly go to-day; I may be of some use, but it is doubtful. However, I will send a medicine which may be efficacious, and suggest to Dr Jessop how he may treat the young lady.”“Oh! sir, cannot you come, cannot you save her?” exclaimed Paul, not understanding what the doctor had said, but only making out that he was unable to accompany him back.“Yes, yes, my friend,” answered the doctor, touched by the old soldier’s earnestness, “To-morrow I’ll start. I must go in a post-chaise, I cannot ride express as you do. Now go down, and my man Mumford will attend to your wants while your horse is fed. In the meantime, I will look out the medicines, and write a letter to my good friend Dr Jessop. Will that satisfy you? Now do go, my good man, do go.”Paul could with difficulty get down any food, but at the same time his experience told him that when work was to be done the body must be fed.He thought the doctor was a long time in concocting the medicine, but hoped that it would be more efficacious in consequence.When once mounted, with the medicine in a case slung at his back, he did not spare his speed. His only fear was falling. A horse had been sent on to Winchester to meet him. He exchanged it for his tired steed. Winchester was soon passed through and Southampton reached. Shortly after leaving the latter place, he encountered Harry Tryon, with a led horse, coming to meet him. He mounted it gladly, for his own was already tired, and together they galloped back through the forest.Harry was afraid that Miss Lucy was worse. At all events, they were anxiously looking out for the doctor or his remedies. The Colonel met them at the hall-door steps. His face was very grave and anxious. He was disappointed at not seeing the doctor, but eagerly took the case of medicines.“Paul, you saved my life once, and by God’s providence you may be the means of paving my daughter’s. His will be done, whatever happens.”Dr Jessop was in attendance. The remedies sent by the London doctor were administered, but Lucy was very weak. Harry asked Dr Jessop what he thought.“My boy, doctors at all times must not express their thoughts,” he answered, evasively. “Miss Everard is young, and youth is a great thing in a patient’s favour. Remember that, and make a good use of yours while you enjoy it.”The guests with sad hearts took their departure. The long-expected ball was not to be. Messages were sent round to the residents in the neighbourhood, informing them that the ball was put off, but in the evening several who had not heard of what had occurred arrived at the door. The Colonel went down to speak to them himself. It was with difficulty he could command his voice, for he saw, with the eye of affection, that his beloved daughter was struck by the hand of death. Among others, a party of foreign officers arrived from a neighbouring town. Captain Everard begged his uncle that he might be allowed to go and speak to them. Refreshments had been placed for those who might come from a distance, and they were accordingly invited in. They were gentlemanly men, and Captain Everard received them as a man of the world. Having mentioned the serious illness of Miss Everard, he at once turned the conversation to other subjects. Among the guests, he saw one whose face was familiar; he looked at him again and again, and was trying to consider where he had seen him. The officer at length became aware that Captain Everard’s eyes were fixed on him.“Surely we have met before,” said the latter. “Was it not at Toulon?” A deep melancholy came over the foreigner’s countenance.“It may be, for I was there once,” he answered; “would that I had died there, too; but my life was saved by a brave English officer, who, at the risk of his own, carried me away amid showers of musketry poured down upon us by my countrymen, and amidst exploding ships, and masses of burning ruin which showered down upon our heads. Tell me, sir, are you that officer? for as you know well, my mind was unhinged by the dreadful events of that night, and though I have a dim recollection of his features, if you are he, you will recollect that I had scarcely recovered when he was compelled to send me to the hospital.”“Yes, indeed,” cried Captain Everard, “I had the satisfaction of saving the life of a French officer in the way you describe. Captain Rochard, I understood, was his name, and although he remained several weeks in my cabin, all that time he was scarcely conscious of what was taking place around him.”“Yes, yes, I am the very man,” exclaimed the foreign officer, rising from his seat, and taking Captain Everard’s hand in his own. “Let me now express my gratitude to you, which I was at that time unable to do. I have since then lived a chequered and adventurous life, and though I dare not contemplate the past, I feel that there is still pleasure and satisfaction to be found in the present. While a spark of hope remains in the bosom of a man, he cannot desire death.”The other officers seemed much interested at the meeting between their friend and the English captain. Captain Rochard, they said, had joined them, and one or two had known him formerly when he was in the French marine, and they were convinced that he would do credit to their corps.Harry Tryon had come to the house twice before in the day to inquire for Lucy; he now returned with the Baron de Ruvigny, who really looked dejected and almost heartbroken at the illness of the young lady. Harry had exchanged a few words with Mabel; they were parting words, so we must not too curiously inquire into what was said. He had been, however, anxious to remain a few days longer, but Lady Tryon insisted on setting off the next day for London. He once more rejoined the Baron at the hall-door. He found him standing with the foreign officers, whom he had invited to spend the rest of the evening at Lynderton. Harry was of course asked to join the party. Captain Everard was parting from them at the hall-door, and as the light fell on Captain Rochard’s features Harry was sure that he was an old acquaintance. Captain Rochard dropped a little behind his companions as they walked down the avenue, and Harry took this opportunity of addressing him.“We have met before, Captain Falwasser,” said Harry; “I am sure that I am not mistaken, and you were very kind to me on one occasion when I was a boy.”“Ah!” answered the Captain, with a start, “that was my name; I will not deny it; that is to say, it was my name for a time, and it may be my name again; but at present I must beg you will know me as Captain Rochard, the friend of your relative—is he not?—Captain Everard.”“I will be careful to obey your wishes, Captain Rochard,” said Harry; “but Captain Everard is not a relative.”Harry felt himself blushing as he said this, for he certainly hoped that he might be so some day. Harry felt very curious to know who this Captain Rochard could possibly be. He had known him, apparently, as the commander of a smuggler; now he found him in the character of a military officer. “Perhaps, after all, he may be neither one nor the other,” thought Harry; “there is a peculiarly commanding and dignified air about him.”The evening was spent very pleasantly, for although the young Baron was sad at heart, he endeavoured to overcome his feelings, for the sake of entertaining his guests, and music and pleasant conversation made the hours pass rapidly away. The officers of the foreign legion had neither the inclination nor the means of imitating the example of British military officers, who at that time, and on such an occasion, would have spent the evening in a carouse. A few glasses of lemonade was probably the extent of the entertainment afforded by the host, or expected by the guests.The next morning Harry found himself on the box of Lady Tryon’s coach, rumbling away towards London. Her lady’s-maid was inside. The footman sat on the box with Harry. Even the beautiful forest scenery through which they passed failed to raise Harry’s spirits. He was constantly looking back in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the chimneys of Stanmore; not that he could really have seen them, by-the-bye, but his heart flew, at all events, in the direction of his eye. He thought, too, of dear sweet Lucy lying on her sick-bed, too likely, he feared, to prove her death-bed.The road was none of the best in those days, and Harry and the footman had often to get off and help the carriage along. This was a relief, however. They each had a brace of pistols, and a blunderbuss was strung at the back of the box. Harry, however, had a strong suspicion that Simon, the footman, would be very unwilling to use it, even in defence of the matured charms of Miss Betsy Frizzle, her ladyship’s much suffering and much enduring handmaiden. Sometimes the journey occupied three days, but her ladyship was in a hurry, and her carriage being unusually light, and the roads in tolerably good order, they were only to sleep one night on the road.Harry had been so constantly away from home for the last few days, that he had had no conversation with his grandmother. As they were seated at tea in their inn, the old lady again spoke of his marriage with Mabel.“I told you, Harry, that the Colonel’s daughter would die. I knew it long ago. I saw it in her eye, and her voice told me that she was not to live many years in this world. Thus, mark me, Miss Mabel will become the mistress of Stanmore. Now, Harry, I intend to leave you all I have got, so that you may cut a figure in the world. You are like your father in face and figure, and I love you on that account. He was more a man of the world than you are, or will ever become, I suspect. Let me tell you it is an important thing to know the world well. I do, and have no great respect for it in consequence; but I know how to manage it, and that’s what I want you to do. You will have many opportunities in London; I must beg that you will not throw them away. You may be the possessor of a large fortune, and yet unless you know how to manage it, it may be of little use to you. Many a man, with three or four thousand a year, does more than others with thirty or forty thousand. I would have you also, Harry, pay every attention to the wishes of your guardian, Mr Kyffin. He is a very respectable man, and will probably save money, and as far as I can learn, as he has no other relations of his own, he will undoubtedly leave it to you. Thus I hope that you may be very well off. Still both Mr Kyffin and I may live for a good many years. When he last called for you in London I examined his countenance, and considered him a remarkably hale and healthy man, while I myself feel as well as I ever did in my life. However, I don’t wish to think of the time when you will come into my property.”Harry, of course, begged that the old lady would not think of such an event, and declared himself ready to enter some profession, by which he might make himself independent of the expected fortunes of his friends. He thought that he might like the law. Life in London and in dusty chambers was not exactly what he had been accustomed to, but still, where an important object was to be gained, he was ready to submit to anything. Lady Tryon laughed at the notion. He might certainly eat his dinners at the Inns of Court and live in dusty chambers, but as to making anything by so doing, the idea was preposterous. A young fellow like him, of good family and presentable appearance, must marry an heiress. He was fit for that, and nothing else.Harry saw that there was no use discussing the matter with his grandmother. He resolved, however, to talk it over with his guardian as soon as they met. He saw that the old lady had some project in her head, which she had resolved to keep secret from him. It must be confessed, he was very glad when her ladyship rang for Betsy Frizzle, and retired to her room. They arrived next day late in the evening at Lady Tryon’s house, in the middle of — Street.Harry set off the next day to visit Mr Roger Kyffin, of Hampstead. He found that the coach ran twice in the day to that far-distant suburb. It was a pleasant drive, among green fields, here and there a smiling villa, but otherwise with few buildings. Mr Kyffin had not come back from the city when Harry arrived, but his careful housekeeper received him with every attention, and insisted on his partaking of some of her preserves and home-made wine, just to give him an appetite for supper, as of course her master always dined in London.At last Mr Kyffin arrived. He was much pleased with Harry’s appearance. They spent a very pleasant evening. Harry could not help contrasting the conversation of his guardian with that of his grandmother—the man of business, so unworldly, and with a heart so full of warm affection, anxious for the welfare of his fellow-creatures, while the old lady with one foot in the grave was truly of the earth—earthy. Harry did not exactly say as much as this to himself, but he felt it, notwithstanding. Roger Kyffin was very much pleased to hear of Harry’s wish to enter a profession. “I would not have you decide in a hurry,” he said, “and you must consider for what you are best fitted. You know that I, as far as I have the power, will help you to the utmost—on that you may depend. Further than that, Harry, I don’t wish to bias you.” Harry slept at Mr Kyffin’s, a pretty little cottage, and accompanied him the next day back to London. He found that the mornings hung somewhat heavily on his hands; the evenings, too, were not spent in a way particularly agreeable to him, as Lady Tryon insisted on his accompanying her to the routs and other parties she frequented. He had a dislike to cards, and could never learn to play, so she had not insisted on his joining her, but she spent the whole of the evening at the card-table. He saw, however, from the piles of gold placed before her that she was playing high; how high he could not tell; but very often she returned home in an unusually bad humour, when he found it safer to keep silence than to attempt any conversation with her.At this time, ladies of fashion, as well as gentlemen, were fearfully addicted to the vice of gambling. The law was doing its utmost to put down public hells, but it was unable in general to stop the practice in private houses, in consequence of the difficulty of obtaining evidence.One evening Lady Tryon had been at the house of the Countess of Buckinghamshire, to which Harry had, very unwillingly, been compelled to accompany her. As usual, gambling went on, a gentleman of fashion keeping the faro-table. Harry saw by the expression of his grandmother’s countenance that she was a heavy loser. The more she lost, the higher stakes she seemed inclined to play for.“Let the old lady have her way,” he heard a gentleman near whom he was standing observe, “a little bleeding will do her no harm.”The Countess’s handsome rooms were full of people of rank and fashion. Tables were scattered about on each side with eager players, some engaged in cards, others casting the dice, while others stood round staking considerable sums on the turn of a card or throw of the ivory. All of them seemed brought together by one absorbing passion, which they shared with the stockbrokers of Change Alley and the frequenters of the lowest hells. A few like Harry might have been compelled to go there against their will—young daughters to attend their mothers, who were leading them into vice, and a few like Harry who had no money to stake. As he looked at the group of excited beings with sparkling eyes, the rouge cheeks of the ladies, with here and there a black patch to hide a blemish, or to set off the fairness of their skins; the haggard faces of the men, with their perukes pushed on one side, their lips puckered, pressed close together, many of them holding the cards with trembling knees, evidently with one foot in the grave, Harry could not help hoping that he might never become like one of them, and he longed once more to be back at Stanmore in the company of Mabel. He thought, too, of her dying cousin, for the last account which had been received gave no hopes of her recovery, and every day he expected to hear that she was no more. He was thankful when at length he received Lady Tryon’s commands to order her coach. She was in a worse humour even than usual.“Fortune won’t desert me,” she said at length, as they were nearing home; “there’s another chance; I intend to purchase some lottery tickets: they can bring me through, though nothing else can, unless, Harry, when you marry the little heiress you take care of your old grand-dame; you owe her something for bringing you up as a gentleman, for if I had not taken you up you would have been even now a merchant’s clerk in the city! Faugh! that such should be the fate of a grandson of General Tryon.”Harry did not venture to remark that her ladyship’s brother was a merchant, and probably had been a merchant’s clerk in his younger days; however, he thought as much.

Mr Musgrave threw himself into his arm-chair, and crossing his legs, with a frown of thought on his brow, looked over Dr Jessop’s notes. “I will go down to-morrow,” he said, turning to Paul, who stood before him eagerly watching his countenance, as if he could there read the probable fate of his beloved young mistress. “I cannot possibly go to-day; I may be of some use, but it is doubtful. However, I will send a medicine which may be efficacious, and suggest to Dr Jessop how he may treat the young lady.”

“Oh! sir, cannot you come, cannot you save her?” exclaimed Paul, not understanding what the doctor had said, but only making out that he was unable to accompany him back.

“Yes, yes, my friend,” answered the doctor, touched by the old soldier’s earnestness, “To-morrow I’ll start. I must go in a post-chaise, I cannot ride express as you do. Now go down, and my man Mumford will attend to your wants while your horse is fed. In the meantime, I will look out the medicines, and write a letter to my good friend Dr Jessop. Will that satisfy you? Now do go, my good man, do go.”

Paul could with difficulty get down any food, but at the same time his experience told him that when work was to be done the body must be fed.

He thought the doctor was a long time in concocting the medicine, but hoped that it would be more efficacious in consequence.

When once mounted, with the medicine in a case slung at his back, he did not spare his speed. His only fear was falling. A horse had been sent on to Winchester to meet him. He exchanged it for his tired steed. Winchester was soon passed through and Southampton reached. Shortly after leaving the latter place, he encountered Harry Tryon, with a led horse, coming to meet him. He mounted it gladly, for his own was already tired, and together they galloped back through the forest.

Harry was afraid that Miss Lucy was worse. At all events, they were anxiously looking out for the doctor or his remedies. The Colonel met them at the hall-door steps. His face was very grave and anxious. He was disappointed at not seeing the doctor, but eagerly took the case of medicines.

“Paul, you saved my life once, and by God’s providence you may be the means of paving my daughter’s. His will be done, whatever happens.”

Dr Jessop was in attendance. The remedies sent by the London doctor were administered, but Lucy was very weak. Harry asked Dr Jessop what he thought.

“My boy, doctors at all times must not express their thoughts,” he answered, evasively. “Miss Everard is young, and youth is a great thing in a patient’s favour. Remember that, and make a good use of yours while you enjoy it.”

The guests with sad hearts took their departure. The long-expected ball was not to be. Messages were sent round to the residents in the neighbourhood, informing them that the ball was put off, but in the evening several who had not heard of what had occurred arrived at the door. The Colonel went down to speak to them himself. It was with difficulty he could command his voice, for he saw, with the eye of affection, that his beloved daughter was struck by the hand of death. Among others, a party of foreign officers arrived from a neighbouring town. Captain Everard begged his uncle that he might be allowed to go and speak to them. Refreshments had been placed for those who might come from a distance, and they were accordingly invited in. They were gentlemanly men, and Captain Everard received them as a man of the world. Having mentioned the serious illness of Miss Everard, he at once turned the conversation to other subjects. Among the guests, he saw one whose face was familiar; he looked at him again and again, and was trying to consider where he had seen him. The officer at length became aware that Captain Everard’s eyes were fixed on him.

“Surely we have met before,” said the latter. “Was it not at Toulon?” A deep melancholy came over the foreigner’s countenance.

“It may be, for I was there once,” he answered; “would that I had died there, too; but my life was saved by a brave English officer, who, at the risk of his own, carried me away amid showers of musketry poured down upon us by my countrymen, and amidst exploding ships, and masses of burning ruin which showered down upon our heads. Tell me, sir, are you that officer? for as you know well, my mind was unhinged by the dreadful events of that night, and though I have a dim recollection of his features, if you are he, you will recollect that I had scarcely recovered when he was compelled to send me to the hospital.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Captain Everard, “I had the satisfaction of saving the life of a French officer in the way you describe. Captain Rochard, I understood, was his name, and although he remained several weeks in my cabin, all that time he was scarcely conscious of what was taking place around him.”

“Yes, yes, I am the very man,” exclaimed the foreign officer, rising from his seat, and taking Captain Everard’s hand in his own. “Let me now express my gratitude to you, which I was at that time unable to do. I have since then lived a chequered and adventurous life, and though I dare not contemplate the past, I feel that there is still pleasure and satisfaction to be found in the present. While a spark of hope remains in the bosom of a man, he cannot desire death.”

The other officers seemed much interested at the meeting between their friend and the English captain. Captain Rochard, they said, had joined them, and one or two had known him formerly when he was in the French marine, and they were convinced that he would do credit to their corps.

Harry Tryon had come to the house twice before in the day to inquire for Lucy; he now returned with the Baron de Ruvigny, who really looked dejected and almost heartbroken at the illness of the young lady. Harry had exchanged a few words with Mabel; they were parting words, so we must not too curiously inquire into what was said. He had been, however, anxious to remain a few days longer, but Lady Tryon insisted on setting off the next day for London. He once more rejoined the Baron at the hall-door. He found him standing with the foreign officers, whom he had invited to spend the rest of the evening at Lynderton. Harry was of course asked to join the party. Captain Everard was parting from them at the hall-door, and as the light fell on Captain Rochard’s features Harry was sure that he was an old acquaintance. Captain Rochard dropped a little behind his companions as they walked down the avenue, and Harry took this opportunity of addressing him.

“We have met before, Captain Falwasser,” said Harry; “I am sure that I am not mistaken, and you were very kind to me on one occasion when I was a boy.”

“Ah!” answered the Captain, with a start, “that was my name; I will not deny it; that is to say, it was my name for a time, and it may be my name again; but at present I must beg you will know me as Captain Rochard, the friend of your relative—is he not?—Captain Everard.”

“I will be careful to obey your wishes, Captain Rochard,” said Harry; “but Captain Everard is not a relative.”

Harry felt himself blushing as he said this, for he certainly hoped that he might be so some day. Harry felt very curious to know who this Captain Rochard could possibly be. He had known him, apparently, as the commander of a smuggler; now he found him in the character of a military officer. “Perhaps, after all, he may be neither one nor the other,” thought Harry; “there is a peculiarly commanding and dignified air about him.”

The evening was spent very pleasantly, for although the young Baron was sad at heart, he endeavoured to overcome his feelings, for the sake of entertaining his guests, and music and pleasant conversation made the hours pass rapidly away. The officers of the foreign legion had neither the inclination nor the means of imitating the example of British military officers, who at that time, and on such an occasion, would have spent the evening in a carouse. A few glasses of lemonade was probably the extent of the entertainment afforded by the host, or expected by the guests.

The next morning Harry found himself on the box of Lady Tryon’s coach, rumbling away towards London. Her lady’s-maid was inside. The footman sat on the box with Harry. Even the beautiful forest scenery through which they passed failed to raise Harry’s spirits. He was constantly looking back in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the chimneys of Stanmore; not that he could really have seen them, by-the-bye, but his heart flew, at all events, in the direction of his eye. He thought, too, of dear sweet Lucy lying on her sick-bed, too likely, he feared, to prove her death-bed.

The road was none of the best in those days, and Harry and the footman had often to get off and help the carriage along. This was a relief, however. They each had a brace of pistols, and a blunderbuss was strung at the back of the box. Harry, however, had a strong suspicion that Simon, the footman, would be very unwilling to use it, even in defence of the matured charms of Miss Betsy Frizzle, her ladyship’s much suffering and much enduring handmaiden. Sometimes the journey occupied three days, but her ladyship was in a hurry, and her carriage being unusually light, and the roads in tolerably good order, they were only to sleep one night on the road.

Harry had been so constantly away from home for the last few days, that he had had no conversation with his grandmother. As they were seated at tea in their inn, the old lady again spoke of his marriage with Mabel.

“I told you, Harry, that the Colonel’s daughter would die. I knew it long ago. I saw it in her eye, and her voice told me that she was not to live many years in this world. Thus, mark me, Miss Mabel will become the mistress of Stanmore. Now, Harry, I intend to leave you all I have got, so that you may cut a figure in the world. You are like your father in face and figure, and I love you on that account. He was more a man of the world than you are, or will ever become, I suspect. Let me tell you it is an important thing to know the world well. I do, and have no great respect for it in consequence; but I know how to manage it, and that’s what I want you to do. You will have many opportunities in London; I must beg that you will not throw them away. You may be the possessor of a large fortune, and yet unless you know how to manage it, it may be of little use to you. Many a man, with three or four thousand a year, does more than others with thirty or forty thousand. I would have you also, Harry, pay every attention to the wishes of your guardian, Mr Kyffin. He is a very respectable man, and will probably save money, and as far as I can learn, as he has no other relations of his own, he will undoubtedly leave it to you. Thus I hope that you may be very well off. Still both Mr Kyffin and I may live for a good many years. When he last called for you in London I examined his countenance, and considered him a remarkably hale and healthy man, while I myself feel as well as I ever did in my life. However, I don’t wish to think of the time when you will come into my property.”

Harry, of course, begged that the old lady would not think of such an event, and declared himself ready to enter some profession, by which he might make himself independent of the expected fortunes of his friends. He thought that he might like the law. Life in London and in dusty chambers was not exactly what he had been accustomed to, but still, where an important object was to be gained, he was ready to submit to anything. Lady Tryon laughed at the notion. He might certainly eat his dinners at the Inns of Court and live in dusty chambers, but as to making anything by so doing, the idea was preposterous. A young fellow like him, of good family and presentable appearance, must marry an heiress. He was fit for that, and nothing else.

Harry saw that there was no use discussing the matter with his grandmother. He resolved, however, to talk it over with his guardian as soon as they met. He saw that the old lady had some project in her head, which she had resolved to keep secret from him. It must be confessed, he was very glad when her ladyship rang for Betsy Frizzle, and retired to her room. They arrived next day late in the evening at Lady Tryon’s house, in the middle of — Street.

Harry set off the next day to visit Mr Roger Kyffin, of Hampstead. He found that the coach ran twice in the day to that far-distant suburb. It was a pleasant drive, among green fields, here and there a smiling villa, but otherwise with few buildings. Mr Kyffin had not come back from the city when Harry arrived, but his careful housekeeper received him with every attention, and insisted on his partaking of some of her preserves and home-made wine, just to give him an appetite for supper, as of course her master always dined in London.

At last Mr Kyffin arrived. He was much pleased with Harry’s appearance. They spent a very pleasant evening. Harry could not help contrasting the conversation of his guardian with that of his grandmother—the man of business, so unworldly, and with a heart so full of warm affection, anxious for the welfare of his fellow-creatures, while the old lady with one foot in the grave was truly of the earth—earthy. Harry did not exactly say as much as this to himself, but he felt it, notwithstanding. Roger Kyffin was very much pleased to hear of Harry’s wish to enter a profession. “I would not have you decide in a hurry,” he said, “and you must consider for what you are best fitted. You know that I, as far as I have the power, will help you to the utmost—on that you may depend. Further than that, Harry, I don’t wish to bias you.” Harry slept at Mr Kyffin’s, a pretty little cottage, and accompanied him the next day back to London. He found that the mornings hung somewhat heavily on his hands; the evenings, too, were not spent in a way particularly agreeable to him, as Lady Tryon insisted on his accompanying her to the routs and other parties she frequented. He had a dislike to cards, and could never learn to play, so she had not insisted on his joining her, but she spent the whole of the evening at the card-table. He saw, however, from the piles of gold placed before her that she was playing high; how high he could not tell; but very often she returned home in an unusually bad humour, when he found it safer to keep silence than to attempt any conversation with her.

At this time, ladies of fashion, as well as gentlemen, were fearfully addicted to the vice of gambling. The law was doing its utmost to put down public hells, but it was unable in general to stop the practice in private houses, in consequence of the difficulty of obtaining evidence.

One evening Lady Tryon had been at the house of the Countess of Buckinghamshire, to which Harry had, very unwillingly, been compelled to accompany her. As usual, gambling went on, a gentleman of fashion keeping the faro-table. Harry saw by the expression of his grandmother’s countenance that she was a heavy loser. The more she lost, the higher stakes she seemed inclined to play for.

“Let the old lady have her way,” he heard a gentleman near whom he was standing observe, “a little bleeding will do her no harm.”

The Countess’s handsome rooms were full of people of rank and fashion. Tables were scattered about on each side with eager players, some engaged in cards, others casting the dice, while others stood round staking considerable sums on the turn of a card or throw of the ivory. All of them seemed brought together by one absorbing passion, which they shared with the stockbrokers of Change Alley and the frequenters of the lowest hells. A few like Harry might have been compelled to go there against their will—young daughters to attend their mothers, who were leading them into vice, and a few like Harry who had no money to stake. As he looked at the group of excited beings with sparkling eyes, the rouge cheeks of the ladies, with here and there a black patch to hide a blemish, or to set off the fairness of their skins; the haggard faces of the men, with their perukes pushed on one side, their lips puckered, pressed close together, many of them holding the cards with trembling knees, evidently with one foot in the grave, Harry could not help hoping that he might never become like one of them, and he longed once more to be back at Stanmore in the company of Mabel. He thought, too, of her dying cousin, for the last account which had been received gave no hopes of her recovery, and every day he expected to hear that she was no more. He was thankful when at length he received Lady Tryon’s commands to order her coach. She was in a worse humour even than usual.

“Fortune won’t desert me,” she said at length, as they were nearing home; “there’s another chance; I intend to purchase some lottery tickets: they can bring me through, though nothing else can, unless, Harry, when you marry the little heiress you take care of your old grand-dame; you owe her something for bringing you up as a gentleman, for if I had not taken you up you would have been even now a merchant’s clerk in the city! Faugh! that such should be the fate of a grandson of General Tryon.”

Harry did not venture to remark that her ladyship’s brother was a merchant, and probably had been a merchant’s clerk in his younger days; however, he thought as much.

Chapter Nine.Played Out.—The Last Throw.Lady Tryon had descended to her drawing-room, to which Harry had been summoned to receive her commands. He felt greatly disposed to emancipate himself from his thraldom. “Better a crust of bread and a cup of cold water than this sort of work,” he thought; “yet my grandmother has brought me up, she is the only relative to whom I owe obedience; perhaps something will turn up to free me.”He thought this as he came up from his room. The post arrived at the same moment. A letter was delivered to him. It was from Mabel, announcing her cousin’s death. She called him her dear Harry, and concluded with “ever the same.” Had he been alone he would have pressed the letter to his lips; as it was, he merely repeated the more important part of its contents to his grandmother. Utterly worldly, and devoid of any higher feeling, the old lady received the news in a heartless way. She scarcely uttered an expression of regret; indeed, Harry could not help seeing that she was highly pleased.“You must marry the heiress,” she said; “you must praise her to Mr Kyffin, and I will back you up, and we will see what he can do for you.”She suddenly seemed to think Harry appeared doubtful as to what he should do.“I tell you, boy, I’ll cut you off to a shilling,” she said, getting up and laying her hand on his arm. “You will be a beggar, and a wretched beggar, if you don’t follow my advice. I will not say more; I have said enough; but remember.”“Yes, your ladyship has said enough,” answered Harry. “I love Mabel too well to have her for the sake of her fortune, and I have no wish to see her father die that I may become its possessor.”“Nonsense, boy!” exclaimed the old lady, in a harsh, shrill voice. “You’re a fool, Harry.”The unpleasant conversation was interrupted by a servant entering, and announcing a visitor.“Mr Flockton, who is he?” asked Harry, as he looked at the card.“I know him; I am glad he has come,” said Lady Tryon; “it will save me a long drive into the city.”As she spoke, a middle-aged gentleman in fashionable costume entered the room. He was a somewhat short man, broadly built, with regular features, and a shining bald forehead, from which his lightly-powdered hair was completely drawn off, and fastened behind in a pigtail. The expression of his countenance was bland, with an apparently candid manner, a smile showing his fine white teeth; and an air of nonchalance, though rather evidently the result of artificial politeness than of natural courtesy or good breeding. He bowed with a flourish of his hat to Lady Tryon, and gave a familiar nod to the young gentleman as he sank back in the seat placed for him by the servant. Lady Tryon had had some previous transactions with Mr Flockton, who was the great lottery contractor. It was part of his business to know everybody, as well as their private concerns, in all parts of the United Kingdom. Many was the lady of rank, a merchant’s or a shopkeeper’s wife in London, with whom Mr Flockton had managed to scrape acquaintance, but his chief constituents were among the great masses of society that underlie the noble and the wealthy. His baits and nets lay ready for fish of the smallest size, also, many who could with difficulty raise the sum of 1 pound 11 shillings 6 pence, whereby a sixteenth share of the 20,000 pound prize might by two lucky turns of the wheel of fortune be gained. He caught others by half and even whole tickets at various prices. In country inns Mr Flockton’s advertisements were found fastened up among the political ballads on the walls of the public rooms. They were often circulated by the same book-hawkers who supplied the vast numbers of tracts and verses then published on “The rights of man,” and “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity,” advocated by the French Revolutionists and the English Jacobins. In every manufacturing town and district they came round with parcels of goods and patterns, and were eagerly read by workpeople and masters alike. They circulated in the servants’ halls, even before they were read in the oak parlours and cedar galleries of the granges and lordly castles of the land, and many a poor clergyman dreamed of education for his boys and portions for his girls from the result of a lottery ticket.“I have called, your ladyship, to bring the ten lottery tickets you desired to possess. A cheque on your bankers will pay me for them, and it is my belief that you will find that one of them brings you the great prize. Perhaps this young gentleman would like to take two or three, a mere trifle will give him every prospect of a large sum, and should your ladyship miss it, he would have a greater chance of gaining the prize. What does your ladyship say? Surely you have balance at your bankers’ sufficient to buy fifty tickets, and, in my opinion, the wisest people will buy the most; the more bought, the greater the chance of success.”Lady Tryon was for a moment silent. She recollected too well that on the previous night she had not only lost every shilling which she had at her bankers’, but a considerable sum above it; not only that, but she had raised large sums at different times of late, which if she paid the principal would absorb the whole of her property. Should she pay her debts of honour, or buy the lottery tickets? Mr Flockton’s confident and glowing descriptions decided her on the latter course. When she got the lottery prize she would satisfy the debts she had incurred at cards. She took the tickets Mr Flockton offered, giving him a cheque, which left her scarcely more that 50 pounds at her bankers’. Her greatest annoyance arose from her thus being unable to indulge in gambling till the day for drawing the lottery. Mr Flockton handing the tickets to her ladyship, and buttoning up the cheque, took his departure.Scarcely had he gone, when a servant entered with an announcement that a person of a very suspicious appearance desired to see her ladyship. “I told him, my lady, that you were engaged, but he would take no denial.”Lady Tryon, who was constitutionally brave, having Harry by her side, desired that the man might be shown up. He entered the room with a confident air, though perfectly respectful, and presented an official-looking document.“Why, it’s to summon me to Bow Street police-office for gambling!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is this? Are ladies and gentlemen not to be allowed to amuse themselves if they think fit?”“I have nothing to do with that, my lady,” answered the man, “I have delivered the summons; this young gentleman and your servant are witness to that; the hour is mentioned on the paper. I’ve done my duty, I wish your ladyship good-morning.”“Fearful impertinence!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is the country coming to? Ladies of rank to be treated like criminals, and ordered about at the pleasure of police magistrates!”Harry was naturally considerably annoyed, at the same time he could not forget the scene of the previous evening, and he had heard that some very just enactments had lately been passed to put a stop to gambling, both public and private.“I will go instead of you,” he said, “if that will answer.”“No, I must go myself,” she said, looking at the paper through her spectacles. “Fearfulimpertinenceof these people! Horrible indignity to be subjected to!”At the time appointed Lady Tryon drove up to the police-office. Several carriages were already there, their occupants fashionably-dressed ladies. Lady Tryon recognised them as her acquaintances, with whom she had played at Lady Buckinghamshire’s. The gentleman who had acted ascroupier, and kept the faro-table, was among them. They entered together, looking very hot and very indignant; they were accommodated with seats while the evidence was read. The witnesses against them were two servants, who had been dismissed from her ladyship’s service, and had taken these means to revenge themselves. As these ladies of rank had no excuse to offer, and could not deny the charge, they were each fined 50 pounds, while the keeper of the table, a gentleman of fashion, had to pay 200 pounds as a punishment for his transgression of the law.Lady Tryon drove back in even a worse temper than usual. The 50 pounds she was to pay was the remainder of the balance at her banker’s. She was now literally penniless unless her lottery tickets should turn up prizes. The eventful day of the drawing was looked forward to, not only by her, but by thousands more, with intense anxiety. At length it arrived. Harry set forth with his grandmother in her carriage. The evening before she had sent for the doctor, and procured a quieting potion. In truth she required it, for she looked very ill and excited. Harry saw her maid, by her directions, put into the pocket of the carriage two or three small bottles.“They are little draughts which I may require, Harry, to keep me up. I am an old woman, you know, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be.”They drove on. The crowd increased as they proceeded westward, towards Guildhall. The great drawing was to take place there.“We are certain, Harry, to obtain a prize; if not the 20,000 pound prize, a smaller one, at all events, and that will enable me to purchase a few more tickets for another lottery, or to set me up at the card-table again. If I get the 20,000 pound prize you shall have 1,000 pounds, I will promise you, to cut a figure with in town, and then to go down and marry pretty Mabel Everard. Ah, Harry! you are a fortunate fellow to have such a kind old grandmother as I am, and to be loved by such a sweet girl as Mabel. I know your secret; she loves you, you rogue, and you have only to ask her, and she will marry you at once. I can manage her father; he is a good-natured, easy man, and has a great respect for me.”Thus Lady Tryon ran on; but she could not long keep her thoughts from the hope of the prize. As they passed by Saint Paul’s they found a dense crowd: every moment it increased. Besides a long string of carriages there were numberless people on foot: not only those who possessed tickets, and those who had ensured them, but the friends of the holders, and also many idlers who came to see the drawing, and not a few who were there to prey on the unwary, and pick their pockets literally and metaphorically. As much time would have been lost had the carriage attempted to reach Guildhall, Lady Tryon alighted in Cheapside, and leaning on the arm of her grandson, walked with eager steps towards the renowned hall. Harry felt her arm tremble as she hung heavily on his; but not a word did she utter. All her thoughts and feelings were absorbed in the prospect of the prize she hoped to obtain. Had he known more than he did, he would have understood how much hung upon it.

Lady Tryon had descended to her drawing-room, to which Harry had been summoned to receive her commands. He felt greatly disposed to emancipate himself from his thraldom. “Better a crust of bread and a cup of cold water than this sort of work,” he thought; “yet my grandmother has brought me up, she is the only relative to whom I owe obedience; perhaps something will turn up to free me.”

He thought this as he came up from his room. The post arrived at the same moment. A letter was delivered to him. It was from Mabel, announcing her cousin’s death. She called him her dear Harry, and concluded with “ever the same.” Had he been alone he would have pressed the letter to his lips; as it was, he merely repeated the more important part of its contents to his grandmother. Utterly worldly, and devoid of any higher feeling, the old lady received the news in a heartless way. She scarcely uttered an expression of regret; indeed, Harry could not help seeing that she was highly pleased.

“You must marry the heiress,” she said; “you must praise her to Mr Kyffin, and I will back you up, and we will see what he can do for you.”

She suddenly seemed to think Harry appeared doubtful as to what he should do.

“I tell you, boy, I’ll cut you off to a shilling,” she said, getting up and laying her hand on his arm. “You will be a beggar, and a wretched beggar, if you don’t follow my advice. I will not say more; I have said enough; but remember.”

“Yes, your ladyship has said enough,” answered Harry. “I love Mabel too well to have her for the sake of her fortune, and I have no wish to see her father die that I may become its possessor.”

“Nonsense, boy!” exclaimed the old lady, in a harsh, shrill voice. “You’re a fool, Harry.”

The unpleasant conversation was interrupted by a servant entering, and announcing a visitor.

“Mr Flockton, who is he?” asked Harry, as he looked at the card.

“I know him; I am glad he has come,” said Lady Tryon; “it will save me a long drive into the city.”

As she spoke, a middle-aged gentleman in fashionable costume entered the room. He was a somewhat short man, broadly built, with regular features, and a shining bald forehead, from which his lightly-powdered hair was completely drawn off, and fastened behind in a pigtail. The expression of his countenance was bland, with an apparently candid manner, a smile showing his fine white teeth; and an air of nonchalance, though rather evidently the result of artificial politeness than of natural courtesy or good breeding. He bowed with a flourish of his hat to Lady Tryon, and gave a familiar nod to the young gentleman as he sank back in the seat placed for him by the servant. Lady Tryon had had some previous transactions with Mr Flockton, who was the great lottery contractor. It was part of his business to know everybody, as well as their private concerns, in all parts of the United Kingdom. Many was the lady of rank, a merchant’s or a shopkeeper’s wife in London, with whom Mr Flockton had managed to scrape acquaintance, but his chief constituents were among the great masses of society that underlie the noble and the wealthy. His baits and nets lay ready for fish of the smallest size, also, many who could with difficulty raise the sum of 1 pound 11 shillings 6 pence, whereby a sixteenth share of the 20,000 pound prize might by two lucky turns of the wheel of fortune be gained. He caught others by half and even whole tickets at various prices. In country inns Mr Flockton’s advertisements were found fastened up among the political ballads on the walls of the public rooms. They were often circulated by the same book-hawkers who supplied the vast numbers of tracts and verses then published on “The rights of man,” and “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity,” advocated by the French Revolutionists and the English Jacobins. In every manufacturing town and district they came round with parcels of goods and patterns, and were eagerly read by workpeople and masters alike. They circulated in the servants’ halls, even before they were read in the oak parlours and cedar galleries of the granges and lordly castles of the land, and many a poor clergyman dreamed of education for his boys and portions for his girls from the result of a lottery ticket.

“I have called, your ladyship, to bring the ten lottery tickets you desired to possess. A cheque on your bankers will pay me for them, and it is my belief that you will find that one of them brings you the great prize. Perhaps this young gentleman would like to take two or three, a mere trifle will give him every prospect of a large sum, and should your ladyship miss it, he would have a greater chance of gaining the prize. What does your ladyship say? Surely you have balance at your bankers’ sufficient to buy fifty tickets, and, in my opinion, the wisest people will buy the most; the more bought, the greater the chance of success.”

Lady Tryon was for a moment silent. She recollected too well that on the previous night she had not only lost every shilling which she had at her bankers’, but a considerable sum above it; not only that, but she had raised large sums at different times of late, which if she paid the principal would absorb the whole of her property. Should she pay her debts of honour, or buy the lottery tickets? Mr Flockton’s confident and glowing descriptions decided her on the latter course. When she got the lottery prize she would satisfy the debts she had incurred at cards. She took the tickets Mr Flockton offered, giving him a cheque, which left her scarcely more that 50 pounds at her bankers’. Her greatest annoyance arose from her thus being unable to indulge in gambling till the day for drawing the lottery. Mr Flockton handing the tickets to her ladyship, and buttoning up the cheque, took his departure.

Scarcely had he gone, when a servant entered with an announcement that a person of a very suspicious appearance desired to see her ladyship. “I told him, my lady, that you were engaged, but he would take no denial.”

Lady Tryon, who was constitutionally brave, having Harry by her side, desired that the man might be shown up. He entered the room with a confident air, though perfectly respectful, and presented an official-looking document.

“Why, it’s to summon me to Bow Street police-office for gambling!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is this? Are ladies and gentlemen not to be allowed to amuse themselves if they think fit?”

“I have nothing to do with that, my lady,” answered the man, “I have delivered the summons; this young gentleman and your servant are witness to that; the hour is mentioned on the paper. I’ve done my duty, I wish your ladyship good-morning.”

“Fearful impertinence!” exclaimed Lady Tryon. “What is the country coming to? Ladies of rank to be treated like criminals, and ordered about at the pleasure of police magistrates!”

Harry was naturally considerably annoyed, at the same time he could not forget the scene of the previous evening, and he had heard that some very just enactments had lately been passed to put a stop to gambling, both public and private.

“I will go instead of you,” he said, “if that will answer.”

“No, I must go myself,” she said, looking at the paper through her spectacles. “Fearfulimpertinenceof these people! Horrible indignity to be subjected to!”

At the time appointed Lady Tryon drove up to the police-office. Several carriages were already there, their occupants fashionably-dressed ladies. Lady Tryon recognised them as her acquaintances, with whom she had played at Lady Buckinghamshire’s. The gentleman who had acted ascroupier, and kept the faro-table, was among them. They entered together, looking very hot and very indignant; they were accommodated with seats while the evidence was read. The witnesses against them were two servants, who had been dismissed from her ladyship’s service, and had taken these means to revenge themselves. As these ladies of rank had no excuse to offer, and could not deny the charge, they were each fined 50 pounds, while the keeper of the table, a gentleman of fashion, had to pay 200 pounds as a punishment for his transgression of the law.

Lady Tryon drove back in even a worse temper than usual. The 50 pounds she was to pay was the remainder of the balance at her banker’s. She was now literally penniless unless her lottery tickets should turn up prizes. The eventful day of the drawing was looked forward to, not only by her, but by thousands more, with intense anxiety. At length it arrived. Harry set forth with his grandmother in her carriage. The evening before she had sent for the doctor, and procured a quieting potion. In truth she required it, for she looked very ill and excited. Harry saw her maid, by her directions, put into the pocket of the carriage two or three small bottles.

“They are little draughts which I may require, Harry, to keep me up. I am an old woman, you know, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be.”

They drove on. The crowd increased as they proceeded westward, towards Guildhall. The great drawing was to take place there.

“We are certain, Harry, to obtain a prize; if not the 20,000 pound prize, a smaller one, at all events, and that will enable me to purchase a few more tickets for another lottery, or to set me up at the card-table again. If I get the 20,000 pound prize you shall have 1,000 pounds, I will promise you, to cut a figure with in town, and then to go down and marry pretty Mabel Everard. Ah, Harry! you are a fortunate fellow to have such a kind old grandmother as I am, and to be loved by such a sweet girl as Mabel. I know your secret; she loves you, you rogue, and you have only to ask her, and she will marry you at once. I can manage her father; he is a good-natured, easy man, and has a great respect for me.”

Thus Lady Tryon ran on; but she could not long keep her thoughts from the hope of the prize. As they passed by Saint Paul’s they found a dense crowd: every moment it increased. Besides a long string of carriages there were numberless people on foot: not only those who possessed tickets, and those who had ensured them, but the friends of the holders, and also many idlers who came to see the drawing, and not a few who were there to prey on the unwary, and pick their pockets literally and metaphorically. As much time would have been lost had the carriage attempted to reach Guildhall, Lady Tryon alighted in Cheapside, and leaning on the arm of her grandson, walked with eager steps towards the renowned hall. Harry felt her arm tremble as she hung heavily on his; but not a word did she utter. All her thoughts and feelings were absorbed in the prospect of the prize she hoped to obtain. Had he known more than he did, he would have understood how much hung upon it.

Chapter Ten.Prize or Blank?As they entered at the farther end of the vast hall, where civicfêtesand feasts were wont to take place, and the huge figures of Gog and Magog looked forth from their pedestals, it was already crowded. On either side were low galleries; one devoted to ladies, the other to gentlemen, while the centre was filled with a mixed multitude of every degree, among whom it was very evident that the pickpockets were already busy. All were looking up towards the farther end, where a large stage was erected. In the centre was a table, at which sat several grave personages—the commissioners of the lottery; while on either side were two large circular cases or wheels, in front of each of which stood a Bluecoat boy, from Christ’s Hospital, with the sleeves of their coats turned up. In front of the table were several clerks engaged in noting the proceedings of the day. At either end of the table stood a man, who with a loud voice cried forth the names of the numbers which were drawn at each turn of the wheel by the Bluecoat boys.Lady Tryon pushed her way forward in the gallery that she might be as near as possible to the table. Harry had to leave her. He went round into the centre space, and stood under the part of the gallery where she at length found a seat. With trembling hands, Lady Tryon sat with the numbers of her tickets before her. She kept those also which she professed to give to Harry. As the numbers were loudly proclaimed a change came over the countenance of the eager spectators. When the tickets turned up blanks a look of satisfaction beamed on the faces of all, except the unhappy holder of the number, whereas when a prize was announced, each one present felt that his or her chance was lessened of obtaining the wished-for wealth. Sometimes agroanof despair succeeded the drawing of a number. To purchase that number yon wretched man has been hoarding perhaps for months past, nearly starving himself and those dependent on him, or may be he has been robbing his employer, intending to repay when he should become the possessor of the mighty prize which has been the dream of his midday thoughts and nightly slumbers for so many weeks past. Occasionally, at small intervals, shouts arose from a small group—they had divided the sixteenth part of a ticket among them, and it had turned up a prize. They might be seen shaking hands and laughing strangely, and running into each other’s arms, as their feelings prompted them. Too probably, however, the greater part of the amount would be spent in other tickets, to turn up blanks. A young man was there standing near Harry with haggard countenance, his eager eye fixed on the wheels. A number was cried out. He gazed at a paper before him and ran out, frantically striding his forehead. A pistol shot was heard outside the hall, but the sound scarcely moved one of the eager crowd. Harry afterwards heard that the young man had shot himself, utterly ruined. Such has been the fate of many a man after losing his all at a gambling-house. Such in reality was the use to which the Guildhall of London was at that time put. As the numbers were called out, Harry guessed by the expression of Lady Tryon’s countenance that one after the other of those she held in her hand had turned up blanks. Even the rouge on her cheeks could not conceal the deadly pallor which was creeping over her countenance. Her hands trembled more and more. She dropped paper after paper. At length she held but one in her hand. Some hours had already passed since they entered the hall: no wonder that she was fatigued. Each time another number was called out she glanced at her paper. And now, in the same indifferent voice as before, the crier announced another number. A piercing shriek was heard.“The old lady has fainted!” cried some of the females in the gallery near her, and Harry saw his grandmother falling back from her chair.“Help! help!” was cried. “She is dying!”He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her head fell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped the paper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, most of them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him the slightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and they would not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even of their own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get Lady Tryon out of the gallery.“Is there no medical man who will assist me?” he cried out.“I will, sir,” exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual, stepping forward.“Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket,” said a voice near him.Harry declined the services of the stranger.No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, and even before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmother wore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vain attempted to grasp. “It matters little,” he thought, “she will never discover her loss.” He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage, and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street. Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She was placed in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling the coachman to stop at the first doctor’s shop they came to. The carriage soon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, and before Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to the carriage door.“Can I render any professional assistance?” he asked, looking in.“Yes,” exclaimed Harry; “what can be done for this lady?”“Will she step out?” asked the medical practitioner.“She is unable, sir,” said Harry.“Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse,” was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face.“Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!” he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. “I can do nothing for her, sir.”“Dead!” exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. “Are you sure that she is dead?”“Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you.”Harry told the coachman to drive on. “But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?”“Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much,” said the apothecary, thinking that he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possibly be a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be her son.Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon’s man of business. He sent for him, as he did also for Mr Kyffin.“I will leave you still here,” said his old friend, who came that very evening, “and when your grandmother’s affairs have been arranged you must come to my house. I hope that you will find yourself left comfortably off. Let me entreat you not to be idle, Harry; it is the very worst employment a man can engage in.” Harry shook his head. “I doubt my being well off,” he answered. “We will hope for the best,” said Mr Kyffin. Harry had good reason for his doubts. Even before his grandmother’s body was placed in her coffin, an execution was put into the house. Every article in it was seized by her creditors, and even after all her property had been disposed of, many were still left unpaid. Harry was literally destitute. For himself he would not have felt it so much, but it was a cruel thought that he must relinquish all his hopes of obtaining Mabel. He had, however, one firm friend.“My dear boy,” said Mr Kyffin, “this may be, after all, the best thing that could have happened to you. Had your grandmother left you well off you might have turned out an idler. I have sufficient influence, I think, with your relative, Mr Coppinger, to obtain a situation for you in his house of business. The very fact that your unhappy grandmother has deceived you and left you totally unprovided for will weigh greatly with him.”Harry wrote immediately to his great-uncle, Mr Coppinger, and other relatives, announcing his grandmother’s death. The following day the merchant appeared. He spoke kindly to Harry, and seemed satisfied with the way he expressed himself.“I have seen so little of my sister for so many years that I know nothing of her affairs,” he observed, “but from what you tell me I am afraid that they are not in a satisfactory condition.”Harry, at that time, was not aware how utterly his grandmother had ruined herself. In a very few days, however, the merchant discovered that his sister had not left sufficient to pay her debts.“However, it cannot be helped now. We must have as quiet a funeral as possible, and the less said about the matter the better. I am not surprised, as I heard something about her habits; but for you I am sorry, Harry. However, you are young, and the world is before you. If you are disposed to work you can make your way, as many an honest steady man has done, with fewer abilities than you possess, I suspect.”Harry assured his uncle that he was ready to work, but though he might have preferred entering the army or navy, he saw now clearly that he must attempt some career by which he might maintain himself.“Well, I will talk the matter over with your friend Mr Kyffin, and he will communicate the result to you,” said Mr Coppinger.The people of Lynderton were greatly disappointed, and considered that they had a right to complain of Lady Tryon when they discovered that she was not to be interred in their churchyard with the usual pomp-and-ceremony of persons of her position. Instead of that, she was laid to rest in the burying-ground of the parish in which she died. Still more aggrieved were her creditors when they found they had to accept only five shillings in the pound, and that they might consider themselves very fortunate in obtaining that amount.Roger Kyffin insisted on his young ward coming to live with him, and as soon as the creditors had taken charge of the house, Harry Tryon packed up his small possessions and removed to Hampstead.“It is all arranged, Harry,” said Mr Kyffin, the following day; “your uncle will receive you as a clerk at a salary of 100 pounds a year. It is a very good one, let me assure you, for a beginner. Many a young man has to pay a large premium to be admitted into such a house; you may therefore consider yourself especially fortunate. All you have now to do is to be punctual, to be ready to do every thing you are required, and to forward to the utmost of your power your principal’s interest. Exactness is a great thing, and above all, rigidly honourable conduct. You will not discredit my recommendation, Harry, I feel sure of that.”

As they entered at the farther end of the vast hall, where civicfêtesand feasts were wont to take place, and the huge figures of Gog and Magog looked forth from their pedestals, it was already crowded. On either side were low galleries; one devoted to ladies, the other to gentlemen, while the centre was filled with a mixed multitude of every degree, among whom it was very evident that the pickpockets were already busy. All were looking up towards the farther end, where a large stage was erected. In the centre was a table, at which sat several grave personages—the commissioners of the lottery; while on either side were two large circular cases or wheels, in front of each of which stood a Bluecoat boy, from Christ’s Hospital, with the sleeves of their coats turned up. In front of the table were several clerks engaged in noting the proceedings of the day. At either end of the table stood a man, who with a loud voice cried forth the names of the numbers which were drawn at each turn of the wheel by the Bluecoat boys.

Lady Tryon pushed her way forward in the gallery that she might be as near as possible to the table. Harry had to leave her. He went round into the centre space, and stood under the part of the gallery where she at length found a seat. With trembling hands, Lady Tryon sat with the numbers of her tickets before her. She kept those also which she professed to give to Harry. As the numbers were loudly proclaimed a change came over the countenance of the eager spectators. When the tickets turned up blanks a look of satisfaction beamed on the faces of all, except the unhappy holder of the number, whereas when a prize was announced, each one present felt that his or her chance was lessened of obtaining the wished-for wealth. Sometimes agroanof despair succeeded the drawing of a number. To purchase that number yon wretched man has been hoarding perhaps for months past, nearly starving himself and those dependent on him, or may be he has been robbing his employer, intending to repay when he should become the possessor of the mighty prize which has been the dream of his midday thoughts and nightly slumbers for so many weeks past. Occasionally, at small intervals, shouts arose from a small group—they had divided the sixteenth part of a ticket among them, and it had turned up a prize. They might be seen shaking hands and laughing strangely, and running into each other’s arms, as their feelings prompted them. Too probably, however, the greater part of the amount would be spent in other tickets, to turn up blanks. A young man was there standing near Harry with haggard countenance, his eager eye fixed on the wheels. A number was cried out. He gazed at a paper before him and ran out, frantically striding his forehead. A pistol shot was heard outside the hall, but the sound scarcely moved one of the eager crowd. Harry afterwards heard that the young man had shot himself, utterly ruined. Such has been the fate of many a man after losing his all at a gambling-house. Such in reality was the use to which the Guildhall of London was at that time put. As the numbers were called out, Harry guessed by the expression of Lady Tryon’s countenance that one after the other of those she held in her hand had turned up blanks. Even the rouge on her cheeks could not conceal the deadly pallor which was creeping over her countenance. Her hands trembled more and more. She dropped paper after paper. At length she held but one in her hand. Some hours had already passed since they entered the hall: no wonder that she was fatigued. Each time another number was called out she glanced at her paper. And now, in the same indifferent voice as before, the crier announced another number. A piercing shriek was heard.

“The old lady has fainted!” cried some of the females in the gallery near her, and Harry saw his grandmother falling back from her chair.

“Help! help!” was cried. “She is dying!”

He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her head fell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped the paper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, most of them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him the slightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and they would not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even of their own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get Lady Tryon out of the gallery.

“Is there no medical man who will assist me?” he cried out.

“I will, sir,” exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual, stepping forward.

“Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket,” said a voice near him.

Harry declined the services of the stranger.

No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, and even before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmother wore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vain attempted to grasp. “It matters little,” he thought, “she will never discover her loss.” He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage, and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street. Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She was placed in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling the coachman to stop at the first doctor’s shop they came to. The carriage soon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, and before Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to the carriage door.

“Can I render any professional assistance?” he asked, looking in.

“Yes,” exclaimed Harry; “what can be done for this lady?”

“Will she step out?” asked the medical practitioner.

“She is unable, sir,” said Harry.

“Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse,” was the rejoinder. The apothecary made a long face.

“Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!” he exclaimed, rather offended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. “I can do nothing for her, sir.”

“Dead!” exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. “Are you sure that she is dead?”

“Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for her executors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only advice I can give you.”

Harry told the coachman to drive on. “But do I not owe you a fee, sir, for your trouble?”

“Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much,” said the apothecary, thinking that he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possibly be a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be her son.

Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon’s man of business. He sent for him, as he did also for Mr Kyffin.

“I will leave you still here,” said his old friend, who came that very evening, “and when your grandmother’s affairs have been arranged you must come to my house. I hope that you will find yourself left comfortably off. Let me entreat you not to be idle, Harry; it is the very worst employment a man can engage in.” Harry shook his head. “I doubt my being well off,” he answered. “We will hope for the best,” said Mr Kyffin. Harry had good reason for his doubts. Even before his grandmother’s body was placed in her coffin, an execution was put into the house. Every article in it was seized by her creditors, and even after all her property had been disposed of, many were still left unpaid. Harry was literally destitute. For himself he would not have felt it so much, but it was a cruel thought that he must relinquish all his hopes of obtaining Mabel. He had, however, one firm friend.

“My dear boy,” said Mr Kyffin, “this may be, after all, the best thing that could have happened to you. Had your grandmother left you well off you might have turned out an idler. I have sufficient influence, I think, with your relative, Mr Coppinger, to obtain a situation for you in his house of business. The very fact that your unhappy grandmother has deceived you and left you totally unprovided for will weigh greatly with him.”

Harry wrote immediately to his great-uncle, Mr Coppinger, and other relatives, announcing his grandmother’s death. The following day the merchant appeared. He spoke kindly to Harry, and seemed satisfied with the way he expressed himself.

“I have seen so little of my sister for so many years that I know nothing of her affairs,” he observed, “but from what you tell me I am afraid that they are not in a satisfactory condition.”

Harry, at that time, was not aware how utterly his grandmother had ruined herself. In a very few days, however, the merchant discovered that his sister had not left sufficient to pay her debts.

“However, it cannot be helped now. We must have as quiet a funeral as possible, and the less said about the matter the better. I am not surprised, as I heard something about her habits; but for you I am sorry, Harry. However, you are young, and the world is before you. If you are disposed to work you can make your way, as many an honest steady man has done, with fewer abilities than you possess, I suspect.”

Harry assured his uncle that he was ready to work, but though he might have preferred entering the army or navy, he saw now clearly that he must attempt some career by which he might maintain himself.

“Well, I will talk the matter over with your friend Mr Kyffin, and he will communicate the result to you,” said Mr Coppinger.

The people of Lynderton were greatly disappointed, and considered that they had a right to complain of Lady Tryon when they discovered that she was not to be interred in their churchyard with the usual pomp-and-ceremony of persons of her position. Instead of that, she was laid to rest in the burying-ground of the parish in which she died. Still more aggrieved were her creditors when they found they had to accept only five shillings in the pound, and that they might consider themselves very fortunate in obtaining that amount.

Roger Kyffin insisted on his young ward coming to live with him, and as soon as the creditors had taken charge of the house, Harry Tryon packed up his small possessions and removed to Hampstead.

“It is all arranged, Harry,” said Mr Kyffin, the following day; “your uncle will receive you as a clerk at a salary of 100 pounds a year. It is a very good one, let me assure you, for a beginner. Many a young man has to pay a large premium to be admitted into such a house; you may therefore consider yourself especially fortunate. All you have now to do is to be punctual, to be ready to do every thing you are required, and to forward to the utmost of your power your principal’s interest. Exactness is a great thing, and above all, rigidly honourable conduct. You will not discredit my recommendation, Harry, I feel sure of that.”

Chapter Eleven.“Seeing Life in London.”Harry accompanied his kind guardian into London the following day, and was introduced in due form to Mr Silas Sleech, one of the principal clerks under Mr Kyffin, as well as to the other persons engaged in Mr Coppinger’s counting-house in Idol Lane.“You are welcome, Mr Tryon,” said Mr Sleech, with whom Harry found himself left for a short time. “I have heard of you before at Lynderton; indeed, I remember your countenance very well as a boy. You do not probably recollect me, however. Still you may possibly have heard the name of my respected father, one of the principal lawyers in Lynderton. We are a very well-connected family, but we do not boast of that here. While in this office, we are men of business; we sink every other character. You understand me, Mr Tryon, and if you are wise you will follow my advice. Here I am your superior and director, but outside this door we are equals, and I hope soon to say, we are friends.”Harry watched Mr Sleech’s countenance while he spoke. He did not particularly like its expression. It was then animated and vivacious enough, but directly afterwards, when Mr Kyffin drew near, it assumed a peculiarly dull and inanimate look, as if he was absorbed completely in the books over which he was poring.Mr Coppinger himself soon afterwards arrived, and called Harry into his private room. He spoke to him much in the same way that Mr Kyffin had done.“You could not be in better hands than those of your guardian,” he observed. “However, as after a time you may grow tired of your daily walk backwards and forwards to Hampstead, you shall have the room over the counting-house, and I shall be happy to see you at my house, where you can become better acquainted with your cousins.”Harry thanked his uncle for his kindness, and expressed a hope that he should be attentive to business. The first moment he had time he wrote to Mabel, telling her of his good fortune in having a situation given him in Mr Coppinger’s house. He had previously written in a very different tone, giving an account of his grandmother’s death, and the penury in which she had left him. He had not, however, told Mabel that he would release her from her engagement to him. While any hope yet lingered in his bosom he could not bring himself to do that. Now he was once more in spirits, and he felt sure that fortune would smile on him. He had never told Mabel that it was very possible Mr Kyffin might leave him his property. He had determined never to build on such a possibility. In the first place, Mr Kyffin was not an old man, and might live for many years, or he might have relatives who had claims on him, or he might not consider it necessary, simply because he was his ward, to leave him anything.What a blessed thing is hope, even in regard to mere mundane matters. Harry had at this time nothing else to live upon. After all the grand expectations he had enjoyed, to find himself at last only a merchant’s clerk with 100 pounds a year! Roger Kyffin’s society might possibly have been more improving to Harry than that of his grandmother. At the same time, after a few weeks, it must be owned that Harry began to wish for a little change. Roger Kyffin had been in the habit of living a good deal by himself, and had not many acquaintances in the immediate neighbourhood. Now and then a few friends came to dine with him, but he seemed to think it a mark of respect to Harry’s grandmother not to see any society at his house for the first two or three weeks after her death.Mr Coppinger invited him to dinner the following day. He was to sleep at the counting-house, where a room had been prepared for him, which he could occupy whenever he pleased.“You may wish to see a little more of London and your friends,” said Mr Coppinger, “and you can scarcely do so if you go out to Hampstead every evening.”Harry of course thanked his uncle for his consideration, and the next, day prepared with some little interest to pay his respects to his unknown cousins.Although at that time many persons dined early, the custom of late dinners was being generally introduced. Harry arranged his toilet with more than usual care, and somewhat before the hour of five took his way to his uncle’s house in Broad Street. It was a handsome mansion. As Harry knocked, the door flew open, and a couple of livery servants with powdered hair stood ready to receive him, and take his hat and cloak. He followed the servant up-stairs, and was ushered into a large drawing-room. A lady came forward, not very young, according to his idea, but fair and good-looking, with a somewhat full figure, and a pleasant expression of countenance.“And are you our cousin Harry?” she said, putting out her hand. “Why did you not come before? We heard about you, and are very glad at last to make your acquaintance.”“I scarcely liked to come without my uncle’s invitation,” said Harry, “but am very happy to have the opportunity of making his daughter’s acquaintance. I conclude that you are Miss Coppinger.”“Yes, I am generally so called,” answered the young lady, “but I am your cousin Martha, remember that. You must not be formal with us. My younger sisters may encourage you to be so, but you must not attend to their nonsense.”“I should like to know something about them,” said Harry, feeling himself quite at home with Martha, evidently a kind and sensible woman, and, as people would say, a bit of a character.“That’s very sensible in you, Harry,” she answered. “Fortunately they have been all out, and only lately went up to dress, so that I shall have time to tell you about them. Next to me there is Susan—she is like me in most respects, and some people take us for twins. However, she really is two years younger. Then there is Mary. She has only one fault. She is somewhat sentimental, and too fond of poetry—reads Cowper and Crabbe, and Miss Burney’s novels, half-bound volumes in marble covers. She sighs over Evelina, and goes into raptures with Clarissa. She is dark, thin, and slight, not a bit like Susan and me. Then there is Maria Jane. She is fair and addicted to laughing, and very good-natured, and not a bit sentimental. Then there is Estella. Harry, you must take care of her. She is something like Mary, but more lively and more practical too. Mary lives in an idea of her own: Estella carries out her romantic notions. Then there is our youngest sister, Sybella, or baby we always used to call her, but she rather objects to the appellation. You must find out about her yourself. There, now you know us all. You are known to us, so you will find yourself perfectly at home by the time you see us assembled round the dinner-table. As we have no brothers we shall make a great deal of you, and take care that you are not spoilt. Above all things, don’t fall in love. You will become hideous and useless if you do. I don’t at all approve of the passion, except when exhibited in gentlemen of comfortable incomes, nor does papa. I warn you of that, so if you wish to take advantage of such hospitality as we can afford you—and we really desire to be kind—you have been cautioned and must act accordingly.”Harry cordially thanked Martha for the description of her sisters, and with perfect sincerity promised to follow her advice. It showed him that she, at all events, was not aware of his love for Mabel, and though he thought her a very good-natured woman, he had no intention of making her his confidant on that matter.Harry had soon the opportunity of discovering the correctness of her description of her sisters. The youngest came in last. There was a considerable amount of beauty among them, so that they passed for a family of pretty girls, but when he saw Sybella, he at once acknowledged that she surpassed them all.She was a bright little fairy, just entering womanhood. Curiously like Mabel, so he thought: indeed, he would not otherwise have admired her so much.“I am not surprised that Martha warned me,” he thought to himself. “If it were not for Mabel, I should certainly have fallen in love with that little girl, and yet Mabel is her superior in many ways; I am sure of that.”They were seated at the dinner-table when these thoughts came into Master Harry’s head. Sybella’s eyes met his. She blushed. Could she have divined his thoughts?His uncle was very kind. No man indeed appeared to better advantage at his dinner-table than did Mr Coppinger. He at once made Harry feel perfectly at home, and as his cousins addressed him by his Christian name, he soon found himself calling them by theirs in return.“We must make a great deal of use of you, Harry,” said Miss Coppinger. “We sadly want a beau to accompany us in the evenings when we go out. Father cannot often come with us. He comes home tired from business. We six spinsters have consequently to spend most of our time in solitude.”“You do not look as if you had often been melancholy,” said Harry. “However, I shall be very happy to be at your service whenever you choose to command me.”“Very prettily spoken,” answered Martha.When Harry glanced round at his six blooming cousins he felt that they were not likely often to be left in solitude. There were a few other guests at table—Alderman Bycroft and his wife and daughter; one a full-blown rose, the other a bursting bud, giving promise of the same full proportions as her mother.There was a young gentleman, the son of a wealthy distiller, dressed in the height of fashion, who seemed to consider that he was greatly honouring Mr Coppinger’s family by his presence, and there was another youth of unpretending appearance, who looked as if he felt himself highly honoured by the invitation, though he had in reality taken a high degree at the University, and was the descendant of a long line of proud ancestors.The distiller, Mr Gilby, was inclined to patronise Harry, especially when he heard Lady Tryon spoken of.“I will show you a little of London life, my boy,” he whispered. “You know nothing of it as yet, and unless you had a friend like me to introduce you, you might live ten years here and know no more of the ins and outs and doings of this great city than you do now.”“Mr Tryon would thereby, I suspect, be more fortunate than if he were introduced to the ways of London as you suggest,” observed Mr Pennant, the pale-faced young student.“I hope you enjoyed your dinner at your uncle’s, yesterday,” said Mr Silas Sleech, as Harry took his seat near him at his office desk the next morning. “Fine girls your cousins, don’t you think? I dine there sometimes, and I then always mind my P’s and Q’s. I flatter myself I stand well there with the fairer portion of the family, and of course our principal has a great respect for my uprightness and integrity,” and a curious leer came into Mr Sleech’s eyes which he could not repress. “Who was there, Tryon?”Harry told him.“Oh! young Gilby! was he? He’s a rollicking blade. He offered to introduce you into London society, did he? Why, he knows nothing about it. Do not trust him. He would only take you to a few low haunts, where you would see enough certainly of what he calls life. He invited you to dine with him a week hence, did he? Well, then, come with me to-night, and before that time I will enable you to show him that you know far more of London life than he does. But, mum, here comes your respected guardian, Mr Roger Kyffin. Will this pen suit you, Mr Tryon?” he said, in a loud voice. “A good handwriting is an important matter in the qualifications of a young clerk.”Harry scarcely knew what to think of Silas Sleech. His manner offended him, but he seemed good-natured and obliging; so he thought to himself, “I will take him as I find him, and he is more likely to initiate me into real London life than that young fop Gilby.” Harry agreed, therefore, to dine with Mr Sleech that evening at a coffee-house, and to accompany him afterwards to some place of amusement.Harry Tryon was not a hero of romance. He had never got into any serious scrape, but then he had not been much tempted. He was now to be left very much to his own resources. His kind guardian had formed a higher opinion of him than he perhaps deserved. He also held Mr Sleech in considerable esteem. It is surprising that he did so, but the fact was, that that individual was a most consummate hypocrite—he otherwise would not certainly have deceived such acute observers as Mr Coppinger and his managing clerk. Harry could not have met with a worse person as a companion in London. Young Gilby might have led him into scrapes, while the other, by imbuing him with his own principles, and introducing him to profligates and designing knaves, might injure his future prospects, and destroy him body and soul, as many another young man has been destroyed. Harry, when he accepted Mr Sleech’s proffered civilities, had no conception of the dangerous course into which he was about to lead him. He remembered old Sleech at Lynderton, a smooth-spoken, oily-tongued, civil gentleman, profuse in his bows to gentlemen on horseback or ladies in their carriages, but very apt to button up his breeches pockets at the approach of a supplicant. As to his character he knew nothing, except that he was looked upon as a lawyer of sharp practice. Once upon a time Harry would not have wished to be seen walking down Lynderton Street in company with Silas Sleech, but now things were altered. In London people needed not to be so particular as to their associates.As soon as the counting-house was closed, Harry set off with Silas Sleech to the West End. That first evening was spent in a way that even Roger Kyffin, had he made enquiries, would probably have approved. They had been to the play, and afterwards supped at a respectable chop-house, frequented by several actors, authors, and wits. Silas Sleech even suggested that Harry should mention it to his guardian.“I don’t often go to such places myself, you see,” he observed afterwards to Mr Kyffin, “but I thought that Harry would require something to divert his mind, and I rather put myself out of the way to amuse him.”Mr Kyffin begged that Mr Sleech would in future take no trouble on that score; and at the same time he did not wish to shut Harry up altogether, and was much obliged to him for what he had done.“You were always kind and wise, sir,” said Mr Sleech, in his softest tone; “it is really a pleasure to me to enter into such scenes for the sake of our young friend, otherwise I confess that more sober amusements suit me best.”It was strange, however, that Mr Sleech should press Harry the following evening to spend it precisely in the same way as the former, though the house to which he took him after the play was of a somewhat different character from that of the previous evening. He observed the guests occasionally slipping out of the public room and going up-stairs.“I should like to know what they are about,” said Mr Sleech to Harry; “what do you say, shall we try and get up?”Harry, of course, had no objection.“Follow me, then,” said Sleech; “I observed the turn the others took, and dare say that I can find my way.”Mr Sleech had no difficulty, although there were several dark passages and a flight or two of stairs to be passed. At length a light fell on their faces from an opening in the upper part of the wall. Mr Sleech uttered a few strange words, and a door, hitherto invisible, opening, he drew Harry through it. Another passage and another door were passed through, and they found themselves in a room of considerable size, in which a number of people were assembled round a table on which dice were rattling, and a gentleman with a long stick was drawing up towards him small piles of gold placed at the edge, and occasionally paying out others to some bystanders.“Why, we have got into something like a hell,” whispered Mr Sleech to Harry. “I had no idea of the sort of place we were coming to. However, now we are here, let us stop and see the fun; it seems very exciting. See how eager these men watch the throws. I say, I feel quite a longing to have a cast myself; it is not a right thing to do, but when one once is in such a place it cannot much matter.”“I would rather look on,” said Harry.“So, of course, would I, generally,” said Sleech; “still it won’t do to be here long without having a throw now and then; but still it is better you should keep to your good resolution. If you like to take any refreshment, you will find plenty of it on the sideboard there. You will have nothing to pay; and if it is necessary I will see about that.”Harry watched the proceedings for some time. He had too often, when with Lady Tryon, witnessed play going forward in private not to be too well acquainted with all the games in vogue. By degrees, therefore, his interest was aroused. Silas Sleech seemed unable any longer to resist the influence, and soon, pulling out some gold, he began to bet as the rest of the guests were doing. He was the winner of a considerable sum. Coming round to Harry, he put ten guineas into his hand. “There, my boy,” he said, “just try your luck with this; if you are the winner you can pay me, if not, never mind. It’s luck’s profits, so I shall not feel the loss.”Harry hesitated. He had no love for gambling, and he knew that his guardian would be sorry to hear that he had engaged in play. Sleech, however, urged him to go on. “You’re sure to win, and you’ll repent it if you go away without anything in your pocket.”Thus persuaded, Harry staked a couple of guineas and won. He then staked five, and was also successful. He doubled his stakes—again he came off the winner. It would have been better for him had he lost. He was still moderate in his stakes—fortunately, for luck, as Sleech called it, began to go against him. However, he left off with 100 pounds in his pocket. Sleech congratulated him as they wound their way out of the room down-stairs again.“It’s a nice little sum,” he whispered; “you see what can be done if a man is cool and calm; only there is one little piece of advice I wish to give you: Don’t mention the matter to Mr Kyffin. If he asks you, just say that you have been to the same sort of place that you went to yesterday, but that you have seen enough of that sort of thing for the present. You know that to-morrow you are engaged to Mr Coppinger’s; so you told me. So we cannot go again for some little time.”His second dinner at his uncle’s went off as pleasantly as the first. His cousins even improved on acquaintance. Sybella especially made herself agreeable to him. She did not try; it was her artless, natural manner which was so attractive. She was a sweet little creature, there was no doubt about that, and had not his heart been already given to Mabel, he would certainly have lost it to her. The only other guest was Mr Gilby. He seemed to be a very frequent visitor at the house, but Harry could not discover which of his cousins was the attraction. Perhaps the young gentleman himself had not made up his mind. Mr Coppinger was kind and courteous, but treated Harry with quite as much attention as he did the wealthy Mr Gilby. Indeed, that gentleman knew perfectly well that, should he wish to secure him for one of his daughters, the surest way to succeed would be to show perfect indifference about the matter. Harry was somewhat surprised at the interest his cousins took in the descriptions Mr Gilby gave of some of his exploits. He himself had never seen the fun of knocking down watchmen, running off with their rattles, and rousing up medical practitioners from their midnight slumbers, or calling reverend gentlemen out of their beds to visit dying people. By his own account, also, he had theentréebehind the scenes at all the theatres, and in many of them his chair upon the stage. He was a regular frequenter of Newmarket and the principal races in the kingdom, and there were very few hells and gambling-houses of every sort into which he had not found his way. He, however, seemed to be aware that Mr Coppinger could not approve of this part of his proceedings, and therefore only spoke of them out of hearing of his host. He seemed to look down with supreme contempt on Harry, who had not such experiences to talk of, and again offered to introduce him into life.“Thank you,” said Harry; “but you see I have become a man of business, and have very little time to spare for those sort of amusements; besides, I confess I care very little about them.”“Well, you must take your own way,” answered the young gentleman, “though I must say I don’t think a young fellow of spirit would be content to live the humdrum life you do; or perhaps ‘still waters run deep,’ eh? that’s it, is it not?”Wherever Harry had been on the previous night, or however late he had been in bed, he was always at his desk directly the office was open, and he also got through his work very much to Roger Kyffin’s satisfaction. Silas Sleech also always praised him. He told him also, should he find any difficulty, to come to him, and on several occasions Harry had to take advantage of his offer. His uncle, after some months, spoke approvingly to him. “You will, I have great hopes, in time be fitted to fulfil an important post in my office, from the reports I hear of you, and the way in which I see you get on with your work. You have your own fortune in your own hands, Harry, and I see no reason why you should not make it. Your success is secure if you go on as you have begun.”Harry was not happy, however. He had great doubts on that subject. Mr Silas Sleech had been more cautious in his proceedings. He suspected that Harry might easily have been alarmed had he attempted to initiate him too rapidly into London life. For several weeks he did not take Harry to the gaming-house into which he had before introduced him. Indeed, sometimes he declined taking him out at all.“It won’t do, my boy,” he said; “you are knocking yourself up with dissipation, and I am afraid you will get a taste for those sort of things if I take you out too often. Why you won more money last night than I have pocketed for months together. ‘The pitcher which goes too often to the well gets broken,’ and if you don’t take care you will have a run of ill-luck, and if you lose, where is the money to come from to pay your debts of honour?”By these remarks it will be understood that Harry Tryon had not resisted the temptations to play which Silas had placed in his way, but as he had come off the gainer hitherto, he had in consequence suffered no inconvenience. He had been too much accustomed to see his grandmother replenish her purse in that way to feel acutely any sense of shame at depriving others of their property, which happily keeps some high-minded men from the vice. Silas Sleech had other baits by which he hoped to obtain entire power over his young companion. There was one, however, with which he entirely failed, Harry would never be allured by meretricious beauty. Silas was puzzled. He took good care to conceal his own sins from public view.“The young one is deep,” he thought to himself. “He knows what he’s about, I am pretty sure of that.”Harry, though duped by Silas, had never made him his confidant. He saw that Harry delighted in excitement, and took him once or twice to hear the debates in the House of Commons. They were pretty stormy sometimes, when Fox, and Pitt, and Wyndham were on their feet. Silas professed to be a “friend of the people.” Harry’s generous heart rose in rebellion against anything like tyranny and oppression, and Silas easily persuaded him that the French Revolution had been brought about by the tyrannical way in which the aristocracy had treated the people.“Let me ask you, Harry,” he said, “are not our own people treated very much in the same way? Look at our ill-fed, ill-clad soldiers, robbed on all sides, and left to perish like dogs from neglect. Then see our sailors. Were you ever on board a man-of-war, Harry? I have been. Just see the tough dry meat, and weevily biscuit they are fed with; the fearful way in which they are flogged for the slightest offence, at the will, often capricious, of their captains; the little care taken of them in sickness; the ill-paid, half-educated men sent out as surgeons; and the wretched pensions they receive after, if they escape death, when wounded in battle.”So Silas talked on. There was much truth in what he said, but his statements were often exaggerated.“However, I am but a poor speaker, Harry,” he said; “come with me some evening, and you shall hear all that I have said put forth far more forcibly, and in far better language. Don’t tell old Kyffin where you have been, that’s all. He holds to old-fangled notions, and has no faith in Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality. We will look in first at two or three of the clubs to which I belong, and there’s no reason why he should not suppose that you have been to one of those. There’s the Hums’; you remember my taking you there, at the Blue Posts, in Covent Garden, and the ‘Rights of Man’ Club. I have belonged to that since I came to town. Then we can look in at the Pearl Drinkers’, and if by chance our friend presses you, tell him what you saw there. He probably does not guess that I belong to more than one quiet club, and he may be a little astonished at first, but that won’t matter. He has no power over me out of the office. Mr Coppinger knows my merits, I flatter myself, too much to dispense with my services at Mr Roger Kyffin’s bidding.”“I don’t like those remarks,” thought Harry to himself. “Ought I to go with this man?”He very often had thought as much, and yet had followed Sleech’s lead. The day’s work was over. Harry had thought of proposing to walk home with Mr Kyffin, but he went out, and had no opportunity afterwards of speaking to him. Was Roger Kyffin pleased with his ward? Not altogether. He thought that he spent too much time in going to places of public amusement. He might more frequently have offered to go out to Hampstead. Still he did not like to lecture the young man.“When I was young I should not have been contented with what now pleases me. Harry will soon have had enough of this sort of life, and then will take to more useful pastimes.”“Come, Harry, let’s be off,” said Mr Sleech, taking him by the arm.Harry did not resist. Mr Sleech gave him a capital dinner at the “Blue Posts,” and looked in afterwards at the “Pearl Drinkers’ Club.”“Come now,” he said, “we will steer for the ‘Saracen’s Head,’ Gerard Street, Soho. I will introduce you there to some liberal-minded men, who will make you open your eyes a little.”Mr Sleech was a rapid walker, and they quickly got over the ground. Giving his name, they were admitted into a large room, already full of persons. A considerable number were young men, but there were some already advanced in life. In address and appearance the greater number had imitated the French Republicans, while all, as a sign of their liberality, kept on their hats. A young man was on his legs, his hair escaping from under his hat, hanging over his shoulders. His eyes rolled wildly, while he flung his arms about in every direction, every now and then bringing his doubled fist down upon the palm of his other hand. His oratory was fluent and bold.“The past must be buried in oblivion!” he exclaimed. “We dare not look at it. A hideous system of the domination of one class over the souls and minds and bodies of the vast majority. A new era must be organised, but before a better system can be raised up, the ancient must be levelled with the dust. On a new foundation—the whole of the people—we must build up a glorious temple, a superb superstructure, in which people of all nations, united in the bonds of fraternity, must come and worship together the great Goddess of Reason.”

Harry accompanied his kind guardian into London the following day, and was introduced in due form to Mr Silas Sleech, one of the principal clerks under Mr Kyffin, as well as to the other persons engaged in Mr Coppinger’s counting-house in Idol Lane.

“You are welcome, Mr Tryon,” said Mr Sleech, with whom Harry found himself left for a short time. “I have heard of you before at Lynderton; indeed, I remember your countenance very well as a boy. You do not probably recollect me, however. Still you may possibly have heard the name of my respected father, one of the principal lawyers in Lynderton. We are a very well-connected family, but we do not boast of that here. While in this office, we are men of business; we sink every other character. You understand me, Mr Tryon, and if you are wise you will follow my advice. Here I am your superior and director, but outside this door we are equals, and I hope soon to say, we are friends.”

Harry watched Mr Sleech’s countenance while he spoke. He did not particularly like its expression. It was then animated and vivacious enough, but directly afterwards, when Mr Kyffin drew near, it assumed a peculiarly dull and inanimate look, as if he was absorbed completely in the books over which he was poring.

Mr Coppinger himself soon afterwards arrived, and called Harry into his private room. He spoke to him much in the same way that Mr Kyffin had done.

“You could not be in better hands than those of your guardian,” he observed. “However, as after a time you may grow tired of your daily walk backwards and forwards to Hampstead, you shall have the room over the counting-house, and I shall be happy to see you at my house, where you can become better acquainted with your cousins.”

Harry thanked his uncle for his kindness, and expressed a hope that he should be attentive to business. The first moment he had time he wrote to Mabel, telling her of his good fortune in having a situation given him in Mr Coppinger’s house. He had previously written in a very different tone, giving an account of his grandmother’s death, and the penury in which she had left him. He had not, however, told Mabel that he would release her from her engagement to him. While any hope yet lingered in his bosom he could not bring himself to do that. Now he was once more in spirits, and he felt sure that fortune would smile on him. He had never told Mabel that it was very possible Mr Kyffin might leave him his property. He had determined never to build on such a possibility. In the first place, Mr Kyffin was not an old man, and might live for many years, or he might have relatives who had claims on him, or he might not consider it necessary, simply because he was his ward, to leave him anything.

What a blessed thing is hope, even in regard to mere mundane matters. Harry had at this time nothing else to live upon. After all the grand expectations he had enjoyed, to find himself at last only a merchant’s clerk with 100 pounds a year! Roger Kyffin’s society might possibly have been more improving to Harry than that of his grandmother. At the same time, after a few weeks, it must be owned that Harry began to wish for a little change. Roger Kyffin had been in the habit of living a good deal by himself, and had not many acquaintances in the immediate neighbourhood. Now and then a few friends came to dine with him, but he seemed to think it a mark of respect to Harry’s grandmother not to see any society at his house for the first two or three weeks after her death.

Mr Coppinger invited him to dinner the following day. He was to sleep at the counting-house, where a room had been prepared for him, which he could occupy whenever he pleased.

“You may wish to see a little more of London and your friends,” said Mr Coppinger, “and you can scarcely do so if you go out to Hampstead every evening.”

Harry of course thanked his uncle for his consideration, and the next, day prepared with some little interest to pay his respects to his unknown cousins.

Although at that time many persons dined early, the custom of late dinners was being generally introduced. Harry arranged his toilet with more than usual care, and somewhat before the hour of five took his way to his uncle’s house in Broad Street. It was a handsome mansion. As Harry knocked, the door flew open, and a couple of livery servants with powdered hair stood ready to receive him, and take his hat and cloak. He followed the servant up-stairs, and was ushered into a large drawing-room. A lady came forward, not very young, according to his idea, but fair and good-looking, with a somewhat full figure, and a pleasant expression of countenance.

“And are you our cousin Harry?” she said, putting out her hand. “Why did you not come before? We heard about you, and are very glad at last to make your acquaintance.”

“I scarcely liked to come without my uncle’s invitation,” said Harry, “but am very happy to have the opportunity of making his daughter’s acquaintance. I conclude that you are Miss Coppinger.”

“Yes, I am generally so called,” answered the young lady, “but I am your cousin Martha, remember that. You must not be formal with us. My younger sisters may encourage you to be so, but you must not attend to their nonsense.”

“I should like to know something about them,” said Harry, feeling himself quite at home with Martha, evidently a kind and sensible woman, and, as people would say, a bit of a character.

“That’s very sensible in you, Harry,” she answered. “Fortunately they have been all out, and only lately went up to dress, so that I shall have time to tell you about them. Next to me there is Susan—she is like me in most respects, and some people take us for twins. However, she really is two years younger. Then there is Mary. She has only one fault. She is somewhat sentimental, and too fond of poetry—reads Cowper and Crabbe, and Miss Burney’s novels, half-bound volumes in marble covers. She sighs over Evelina, and goes into raptures with Clarissa. She is dark, thin, and slight, not a bit like Susan and me. Then there is Maria Jane. She is fair and addicted to laughing, and very good-natured, and not a bit sentimental. Then there is Estella. Harry, you must take care of her. She is something like Mary, but more lively and more practical too. Mary lives in an idea of her own: Estella carries out her romantic notions. Then there is our youngest sister, Sybella, or baby we always used to call her, but she rather objects to the appellation. You must find out about her yourself. There, now you know us all. You are known to us, so you will find yourself perfectly at home by the time you see us assembled round the dinner-table. As we have no brothers we shall make a great deal of you, and take care that you are not spoilt. Above all things, don’t fall in love. You will become hideous and useless if you do. I don’t at all approve of the passion, except when exhibited in gentlemen of comfortable incomes, nor does papa. I warn you of that, so if you wish to take advantage of such hospitality as we can afford you—and we really desire to be kind—you have been cautioned and must act accordingly.”

Harry cordially thanked Martha for the description of her sisters, and with perfect sincerity promised to follow her advice. It showed him that she, at all events, was not aware of his love for Mabel, and though he thought her a very good-natured woman, he had no intention of making her his confidant on that matter.

Harry had soon the opportunity of discovering the correctness of her description of her sisters. The youngest came in last. There was a considerable amount of beauty among them, so that they passed for a family of pretty girls, but when he saw Sybella, he at once acknowledged that she surpassed them all.

She was a bright little fairy, just entering womanhood. Curiously like Mabel, so he thought: indeed, he would not otherwise have admired her so much.

“I am not surprised that Martha warned me,” he thought to himself. “If it were not for Mabel, I should certainly have fallen in love with that little girl, and yet Mabel is her superior in many ways; I am sure of that.”

They were seated at the dinner-table when these thoughts came into Master Harry’s head. Sybella’s eyes met his. She blushed. Could she have divined his thoughts?

His uncle was very kind. No man indeed appeared to better advantage at his dinner-table than did Mr Coppinger. He at once made Harry feel perfectly at home, and as his cousins addressed him by his Christian name, he soon found himself calling them by theirs in return.

“We must make a great deal of use of you, Harry,” said Miss Coppinger. “We sadly want a beau to accompany us in the evenings when we go out. Father cannot often come with us. He comes home tired from business. We six spinsters have consequently to spend most of our time in solitude.”

“You do not look as if you had often been melancholy,” said Harry. “However, I shall be very happy to be at your service whenever you choose to command me.”

“Very prettily spoken,” answered Martha.

When Harry glanced round at his six blooming cousins he felt that they were not likely often to be left in solitude. There were a few other guests at table—Alderman Bycroft and his wife and daughter; one a full-blown rose, the other a bursting bud, giving promise of the same full proportions as her mother.

There was a young gentleman, the son of a wealthy distiller, dressed in the height of fashion, who seemed to consider that he was greatly honouring Mr Coppinger’s family by his presence, and there was another youth of unpretending appearance, who looked as if he felt himself highly honoured by the invitation, though he had in reality taken a high degree at the University, and was the descendant of a long line of proud ancestors.

The distiller, Mr Gilby, was inclined to patronise Harry, especially when he heard Lady Tryon spoken of.

“I will show you a little of London life, my boy,” he whispered. “You know nothing of it as yet, and unless you had a friend like me to introduce you, you might live ten years here and know no more of the ins and outs and doings of this great city than you do now.”

“Mr Tryon would thereby, I suspect, be more fortunate than if he were introduced to the ways of London as you suggest,” observed Mr Pennant, the pale-faced young student.

“I hope you enjoyed your dinner at your uncle’s, yesterday,” said Mr Silas Sleech, as Harry took his seat near him at his office desk the next morning. “Fine girls your cousins, don’t you think? I dine there sometimes, and I then always mind my P’s and Q’s. I flatter myself I stand well there with the fairer portion of the family, and of course our principal has a great respect for my uprightness and integrity,” and a curious leer came into Mr Sleech’s eyes which he could not repress. “Who was there, Tryon?”

Harry told him.

“Oh! young Gilby! was he? He’s a rollicking blade. He offered to introduce you into London society, did he? Why, he knows nothing about it. Do not trust him. He would only take you to a few low haunts, where you would see enough certainly of what he calls life. He invited you to dine with him a week hence, did he? Well, then, come with me to-night, and before that time I will enable you to show him that you know far more of London life than he does. But, mum, here comes your respected guardian, Mr Roger Kyffin. Will this pen suit you, Mr Tryon?” he said, in a loud voice. “A good handwriting is an important matter in the qualifications of a young clerk.”

Harry scarcely knew what to think of Silas Sleech. His manner offended him, but he seemed good-natured and obliging; so he thought to himself, “I will take him as I find him, and he is more likely to initiate me into real London life than that young fop Gilby.” Harry agreed, therefore, to dine with Mr Sleech that evening at a coffee-house, and to accompany him afterwards to some place of amusement.

Harry Tryon was not a hero of romance. He had never got into any serious scrape, but then he had not been much tempted. He was now to be left very much to his own resources. His kind guardian had formed a higher opinion of him than he perhaps deserved. He also held Mr Sleech in considerable esteem. It is surprising that he did so, but the fact was, that that individual was a most consummate hypocrite—he otherwise would not certainly have deceived such acute observers as Mr Coppinger and his managing clerk. Harry could not have met with a worse person as a companion in London. Young Gilby might have led him into scrapes, while the other, by imbuing him with his own principles, and introducing him to profligates and designing knaves, might injure his future prospects, and destroy him body and soul, as many another young man has been destroyed. Harry, when he accepted Mr Sleech’s proffered civilities, had no conception of the dangerous course into which he was about to lead him. He remembered old Sleech at Lynderton, a smooth-spoken, oily-tongued, civil gentleman, profuse in his bows to gentlemen on horseback or ladies in their carriages, but very apt to button up his breeches pockets at the approach of a supplicant. As to his character he knew nothing, except that he was looked upon as a lawyer of sharp practice. Once upon a time Harry would not have wished to be seen walking down Lynderton Street in company with Silas Sleech, but now things were altered. In London people needed not to be so particular as to their associates.

As soon as the counting-house was closed, Harry set off with Silas Sleech to the West End. That first evening was spent in a way that even Roger Kyffin, had he made enquiries, would probably have approved. They had been to the play, and afterwards supped at a respectable chop-house, frequented by several actors, authors, and wits. Silas Sleech even suggested that Harry should mention it to his guardian.

“I don’t often go to such places myself, you see,” he observed afterwards to Mr Kyffin, “but I thought that Harry would require something to divert his mind, and I rather put myself out of the way to amuse him.”

Mr Kyffin begged that Mr Sleech would in future take no trouble on that score; and at the same time he did not wish to shut Harry up altogether, and was much obliged to him for what he had done.

“You were always kind and wise, sir,” said Mr Sleech, in his softest tone; “it is really a pleasure to me to enter into such scenes for the sake of our young friend, otherwise I confess that more sober amusements suit me best.”

It was strange, however, that Mr Sleech should press Harry the following evening to spend it precisely in the same way as the former, though the house to which he took him after the play was of a somewhat different character from that of the previous evening. He observed the guests occasionally slipping out of the public room and going up-stairs.

“I should like to know what they are about,” said Mr Sleech to Harry; “what do you say, shall we try and get up?”

Harry, of course, had no objection.

“Follow me, then,” said Sleech; “I observed the turn the others took, and dare say that I can find my way.”

Mr Sleech had no difficulty, although there were several dark passages and a flight or two of stairs to be passed. At length a light fell on their faces from an opening in the upper part of the wall. Mr Sleech uttered a few strange words, and a door, hitherto invisible, opening, he drew Harry through it. Another passage and another door were passed through, and they found themselves in a room of considerable size, in which a number of people were assembled round a table on which dice were rattling, and a gentleman with a long stick was drawing up towards him small piles of gold placed at the edge, and occasionally paying out others to some bystanders.

“Why, we have got into something like a hell,” whispered Mr Sleech to Harry. “I had no idea of the sort of place we were coming to. However, now we are here, let us stop and see the fun; it seems very exciting. See how eager these men watch the throws. I say, I feel quite a longing to have a cast myself; it is not a right thing to do, but when one once is in such a place it cannot much matter.”

“I would rather look on,” said Harry.

“So, of course, would I, generally,” said Sleech; “still it won’t do to be here long without having a throw now and then; but still it is better you should keep to your good resolution. If you like to take any refreshment, you will find plenty of it on the sideboard there. You will have nothing to pay; and if it is necessary I will see about that.”

Harry watched the proceedings for some time. He had too often, when with Lady Tryon, witnessed play going forward in private not to be too well acquainted with all the games in vogue. By degrees, therefore, his interest was aroused. Silas Sleech seemed unable any longer to resist the influence, and soon, pulling out some gold, he began to bet as the rest of the guests were doing. He was the winner of a considerable sum. Coming round to Harry, he put ten guineas into his hand. “There, my boy,” he said, “just try your luck with this; if you are the winner you can pay me, if not, never mind. It’s luck’s profits, so I shall not feel the loss.”

Harry hesitated. He had no love for gambling, and he knew that his guardian would be sorry to hear that he had engaged in play. Sleech, however, urged him to go on. “You’re sure to win, and you’ll repent it if you go away without anything in your pocket.”

Thus persuaded, Harry staked a couple of guineas and won. He then staked five, and was also successful. He doubled his stakes—again he came off the winner. It would have been better for him had he lost. He was still moderate in his stakes—fortunately, for luck, as Sleech called it, began to go against him. However, he left off with 100 pounds in his pocket. Sleech congratulated him as they wound their way out of the room down-stairs again.

“It’s a nice little sum,” he whispered; “you see what can be done if a man is cool and calm; only there is one little piece of advice I wish to give you: Don’t mention the matter to Mr Kyffin. If he asks you, just say that you have been to the same sort of place that you went to yesterday, but that you have seen enough of that sort of thing for the present. You know that to-morrow you are engaged to Mr Coppinger’s; so you told me. So we cannot go again for some little time.”

His second dinner at his uncle’s went off as pleasantly as the first. His cousins even improved on acquaintance. Sybella especially made herself agreeable to him. She did not try; it was her artless, natural manner which was so attractive. She was a sweet little creature, there was no doubt about that, and had not his heart been already given to Mabel, he would certainly have lost it to her. The only other guest was Mr Gilby. He seemed to be a very frequent visitor at the house, but Harry could not discover which of his cousins was the attraction. Perhaps the young gentleman himself had not made up his mind. Mr Coppinger was kind and courteous, but treated Harry with quite as much attention as he did the wealthy Mr Gilby. Indeed, that gentleman knew perfectly well that, should he wish to secure him for one of his daughters, the surest way to succeed would be to show perfect indifference about the matter. Harry was somewhat surprised at the interest his cousins took in the descriptions Mr Gilby gave of some of his exploits. He himself had never seen the fun of knocking down watchmen, running off with their rattles, and rousing up medical practitioners from their midnight slumbers, or calling reverend gentlemen out of their beds to visit dying people. By his own account, also, he had theentréebehind the scenes at all the theatres, and in many of them his chair upon the stage. He was a regular frequenter of Newmarket and the principal races in the kingdom, and there were very few hells and gambling-houses of every sort into which he had not found his way. He, however, seemed to be aware that Mr Coppinger could not approve of this part of his proceedings, and therefore only spoke of them out of hearing of his host. He seemed to look down with supreme contempt on Harry, who had not such experiences to talk of, and again offered to introduce him into life.

“Thank you,” said Harry; “but you see I have become a man of business, and have very little time to spare for those sort of amusements; besides, I confess I care very little about them.”

“Well, you must take your own way,” answered the young gentleman, “though I must say I don’t think a young fellow of spirit would be content to live the humdrum life you do; or perhaps ‘still waters run deep,’ eh? that’s it, is it not?”

Wherever Harry had been on the previous night, or however late he had been in bed, he was always at his desk directly the office was open, and he also got through his work very much to Roger Kyffin’s satisfaction. Silas Sleech also always praised him. He told him also, should he find any difficulty, to come to him, and on several occasions Harry had to take advantage of his offer. His uncle, after some months, spoke approvingly to him. “You will, I have great hopes, in time be fitted to fulfil an important post in my office, from the reports I hear of you, and the way in which I see you get on with your work. You have your own fortune in your own hands, Harry, and I see no reason why you should not make it. Your success is secure if you go on as you have begun.”

Harry was not happy, however. He had great doubts on that subject. Mr Silas Sleech had been more cautious in his proceedings. He suspected that Harry might easily have been alarmed had he attempted to initiate him too rapidly into London life. For several weeks he did not take Harry to the gaming-house into which he had before introduced him. Indeed, sometimes he declined taking him out at all.

“It won’t do, my boy,” he said; “you are knocking yourself up with dissipation, and I am afraid you will get a taste for those sort of things if I take you out too often. Why you won more money last night than I have pocketed for months together. ‘The pitcher which goes too often to the well gets broken,’ and if you don’t take care you will have a run of ill-luck, and if you lose, where is the money to come from to pay your debts of honour?”

By these remarks it will be understood that Harry Tryon had not resisted the temptations to play which Silas had placed in his way, but as he had come off the gainer hitherto, he had in consequence suffered no inconvenience. He had been too much accustomed to see his grandmother replenish her purse in that way to feel acutely any sense of shame at depriving others of their property, which happily keeps some high-minded men from the vice. Silas Sleech had other baits by which he hoped to obtain entire power over his young companion. There was one, however, with which he entirely failed, Harry would never be allured by meretricious beauty. Silas was puzzled. He took good care to conceal his own sins from public view.

“The young one is deep,” he thought to himself. “He knows what he’s about, I am pretty sure of that.”

Harry, though duped by Silas, had never made him his confidant. He saw that Harry delighted in excitement, and took him once or twice to hear the debates in the House of Commons. They were pretty stormy sometimes, when Fox, and Pitt, and Wyndham were on their feet. Silas professed to be a “friend of the people.” Harry’s generous heart rose in rebellion against anything like tyranny and oppression, and Silas easily persuaded him that the French Revolution had been brought about by the tyrannical way in which the aristocracy had treated the people.

“Let me ask you, Harry,” he said, “are not our own people treated very much in the same way? Look at our ill-fed, ill-clad soldiers, robbed on all sides, and left to perish like dogs from neglect. Then see our sailors. Were you ever on board a man-of-war, Harry? I have been. Just see the tough dry meat, and weevily biscuit they are fed with; the fearful way in which they are flogged for the slightest offence, at the will, often capricious, of their captains; the little care taken of them in sickness; the ill-paid, half-educated men sent out as surgeons; and the wretched pensions they receive after, if they escape death, when wounded in battle.”

So Silas talked on. There was much truth in what he said, but his statements were often exaggerated.

“However, I am but a poor speaker, Harry,” he said; “come with me some evening, and you shall hear all that I have said put forth far more forcibly, and in far better language. Don’t tell old Kyffin where you have been, that’s all. He holds to old-fangled notions, and has no faith in Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality. We will look in first at two or three of the clubs to which I belong, and there’s no reason why he should not suppose that you have been to one of those. There’s the Hums’; you remember my taking you there, at the Blue Posts, in Covent Garden, and the ‘Rights of Man’ Club. I have belonged to that since I came to town. Then we can look in at the Pearl Drinkers’, and if by chance our friend presses you, tell him what you saw there. He probably does not guess that I belong to more than one quiet club, and he may be a little astonished at first, but that won’t matter. He has no power over me out of the office. Mr Coppinger knows my merits, I flatter myself, too much to dispense with my services at Mr Roger Kyffin’s bidding.”

“I don’t like those remarks,” thought Harry to himself. “Ought I to go with this man?”

He very often had thought as much, and yet had followed Sleech’s lead. The day’s work was over. Harry had thought of proposing to walk home with Mr Kyffin, but he went out, and had no opportunity afterwards of speaking to him. Was Roger Kyffin pleased with his ward? Not altogether. He thought that he spent too much time in going to places of public amusement. He might more frequently have offered to go out to Hampstead. Still he did not like to lecture the young man.

“When I was young I should not have been contented with what now pleases me. Harry will soon have had enough of this sort of life, and then will take to more useful pastimes.”

“Come, Harry, let’s be off,” said Mr Sleech, taking him by the arm.

Harry did not resist. Mr Sleech gave him a capital dinner at the “Blue Posts,” and looked in afterwards at the “Pearl Drinkers’ Club.”

“Come now,” he said, “we will steer for the ‘Saracen’s Head,’ Gerard Street, Soho. I will introduce you there to some liberal-minded men, who will make you open your eyes a little.”

Mr Sleech was a rapid walker, and they quickly got over the ground. Giving his name, they were admitted into a large room, already full of persons. A considerable number were young men, but there were some already advanced in life. In address and appearance the greater number had imitated the French Republicans, while all, as a sign of their liberality, kept on their hats. A young man was on his legs, his hair escaping from under his hat, hanging over his shoulders. His eyes rolled wildly, while he flung his arms about in every direction, every now and then bringing his doubled fist down upon the palm of his other hand. His oratory was fluent and bold.

“The past must be buried in oblivion!” he exclaimed. “We dare not look at it. A hideous system of the domination of one class over the souls and minds and bodies of the vast majority. A new era must be organised, but before a better system can be raised up, the ancient must be levelled with the dust. On a new foundation—the whole of the people—we must build up a glorious temple, a superb superstructure, in which people of all nations, united in the bonds of fraternity, must come and worship together the great Goddess of Reason.”

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