 CHAPTER 37 To Surround Anything, however monstrous or ridiculous, with an air of mystery, is to invest it with a secret charm and power of attraction which to the crowd is irresistible. False priests, false prophets, false doctors, false patriots, false prodigies of every kind, veiling their proceedings in mystery, have always addressed themselves at an immense advantage to the popular credulity, and have been perhaps more indebted to that resource in gaining and keeping for a time the upper hand of truth and common sense than twenty-half dozen items in the whole catalog of imposture. Curiosity is and has been from the creation of the world a master passion. To awaken it, to gratify it by slight degrees, and yet leave something always in suspense, is to establish the surest hold that can be had, in wrong, on the unthinking portion of mankind. If a man had stood on London Bridge, clawing till he was hoarse, upon the passage by, to join with Lord George Gordon, although for an object which no man understood, in which in that very incident had a charm of its own, the probability is that he might have influenced the score of people in a month. If all zealous protestants had been publicly urged to join in an association for the avowed purpose of singing a hymn or two occasionally, and hearing some indifferent speeches made, and ultimately a petitioning parliament not to pass an act for abolishing the penal laws against Roman Catholic priests, the penalty of perpetual imprisonment denounced against those who educated children in that persuasion, and the disqualification of all members of the Roman Church to inherit real property in the United Kingdom by right of purchase or descent, matters so far removed from the business and bosoms of the mass might perhaps have called together a hundred people. But when vague rumors got abroad that in this protestant association a secret power was mustering against the government for undefined and mighty purposes, when the air was filled with whispers of a confederacy among the popish powers to degrade and enslave England, establish an inquisition in London, and turn the pens of Smithfield market into stakes and cauldrons, when terrors and alarms which no man understood were perpetually broached, both in and out of parliament, by one enthusiast who did not understand himself, and bygone bugbears which had lain quietly in their graves for centuries were raised again to haunt the ignorant and credulous. When all this was done as it were in the dark, and secret invitations to join the great protestant association in defense of religion, life, and liberty, were dropped in the public ways, thrust under the house doors, tossed in at windows, and pressed into the hands of those who trod the streets by night, when they glared from every wall and chown on every post and pillar so that stocks and stones appeared infected with the common fear, urging all men to join together blindfold in resistance of they knew not what, they knew not why. Then the mania spread indeed in the body, still increasing every day grew forty thousand strong. So said at least in this month of March, seventeen eighty, Lord George Gordon, the association's president. Whether it was the fact or otherwise, few men knew or cared to ascertain. It had never made any public demonstration, had scarcely ever been heard of, saved through him, had never been seen, and was supposed by many to be the mere creature of his disordered brain. He was accustomed to talk largely about numbers of men stimulated as it was inferred by certain successful disturbances arising out of the same subject which had occurred in Scotland in the previous year, was looked upon as a cracked-brained member of the lower house who attacked all parties and sided with none, and was very little regarded. It was known that there was discontent abroad, there always is. He had been accustomed to address the people by placard, speech, and pamphlet, upon other questions. Nothing had come in England of his past exertions, and nothing was apprehended from his present. Just as he has come upon the reader, he had come from time to time upon the public, and been forgotten in a day. As suddenly as he appears in these pages, after a blank of five long years, did he and his proceedings begin to force themselves about this period upon the notice of thousands of people who had mingled in active life during the whole interval, and who, without being deaf or blind to passing events, had scarcely ever thought of him before. My Lord, said Gaspard in his ear as he drew the curtains of his bedby times, My Lord, yes, who's that? What is it? The clock has struck nine, returned the secretary, with meekly folded hands. You have slept well. I hope you have slept well. If my prayers are heard, you are refreshed indeed. To say the truth, I have slept so soundly, said Lord George, rubbing his eyes and looking around the room, that I don't remember quite what place is this? My Lord, cried Gaspard with a smile. Oh, returned his superior. Yes, you're not a Jew, then. A Jew, exclaimed the pious secretary, recoiling. I dreamed that we were Jews, Gaspard. You and I, both of us, Jews with long beards. Heaven forbid, my Lord, we might as well be papists. As opposed we might, returned the other very quickly. Eh, you really think so, Gaspard? Surely I do, the secretary cried, with looks of great surprise. Huh, he muttered. Yes, that seems reasonable. I hope, my Lord, the secretary began. Hope, he echoed, interrupting him. Why do you say you hope? There's no harm in thinking of such things. Not in dreams, returned the secretary. In dreams, no, nor waking either. Called and chosen and faithful, said Gaspard, taking up Lord George's watch, which lay upon a chair, and seeming to read the inscription on the seal abstractedly. It was the slightest action possible, not obtruded on his notice, and apparently the result of a moment's absence of mind, not worth remark. But as the words were uttered, Lord George, who had been going on impetuously, stopped short, reddened, and was silent. Apparently quite unconscious of this change in his demeanor, the wily secretary stepped a little apart, under pretence of pulling up the window blind, and returning when the other had had time to recover, said, The holy cause goes bravely on, my Lord. I was not idle even last night. I dropped two of the hand-bills before I went to bed, and both are gone this morning. Nobody in the house has mentioned the circumstance of finding them, though I have been downstairs for half an hour. One or two recruits will be their first fruit, I predict, and who shall say how many more, with heaven's blessing on your inspired exertions? It was a famous device in the beginning, replied Lord George, an excellent device, and did good service in Scotland. It was quite worthy of you. You remind me not to be a slugger, Gaspard, when the vineyard is menaced with destruction and may be trodden down by papest feet. Let the horses be saddled in half an hour. We must be up and doing. He said this with a heightened color, and in a tone of such enthusiasm that the secretary deemed all further prompting, needless, and withdrew. I dreamed he was a Jew, he said thoughtfully, as he closed the bedroom door. He may come to that before he dies, it's like enough. Well, after a time and provided I lost nothing by it, I don't see why that religion shouldn't suit me as well as any other. There are rich men among the Jews. Shaving is very troublesome. Yes, it would suit me well enough. For the present, though, we must be Christian to the core. Our prophetic model will suit all creeds in their turn. That's a comfort. Reflecting on this source of consolation, he reached the sitting room and rang the bell for breakfast. Lord George was quickly dressed, for his plain toilet was easily made, and as he was no less frugal in his repasse than in his puritan attire, his share of the meal was soon dispatched. The secretary, however, more devoted to the good things of this world, or more intent on sustaining his strength and spirits for the sake of the protestant cause, ate and drank to the last minute, and required indeed some three or four reminders from John Groobie before he could resolve to tear himself away from Mr. Willet's plentiful providing. At length he came downstairs, wiping his greasy mouth and having paid John Willet's bill, timed into his saddle. Lord George, who had been walking up and down before the house, talking to himself with earnest gestures, mounted his horse, and returning old John Willet's stately bow, as well as the parting salutation of a dozen idlers whom the rumour of a live lord being about to leave the maypole had gathered round the porch, they rode away with stout John Groobie in the rear. If Lord George Gordon had appeared in the eyes of Mr. Willet overnight, a nobleman of somewhat quaint and odd exterior, the impression was confirmed this morning, and increased a hundred fold. Sitting both upright upon his bony steed, with his long straight hair dangling about his face and fluttering in the wind, his limbs all angular and rigid, his elbows stuck out on either side ungracefully, and his whole frame jogged and shaken at every motion of his horse's feet, a more grotesque or more ungainly figure can hardly be conceived. In lieu of whip he carried in his hand a great gold-headed cane, as large as any footman carries in these days, in his various modes of holding this unwieldy weapon, now upright before his face like the saber of a horse soldier, now over his shoulder like a musket, now between his finger and thumb, but always in some uncouth and awkward fashion, contributed in no small degree to the absurdity of his appearance. Stiff, lank and solemn, dressed in an unusual manner and ostentatiously exhibiting, whether by design or accident, all his peculiarities of carriage, gesture, and conduct, all the qualities natural and artificial, in which he differed from other men, he might have moved the sternest look around to laughter, and fully provoked the smiles and whispered jests which greeted his departure from the maypole inn. Quite unconscious, however, of the effect he produced, he trotted on beside his secretary, talking to himself nearly all the way, until they came within a mile or two of London, when now and then some passenger went by who knew him by sight, and pointed him out to someone else, and perhaps stood looking after him, or cried in jest or earnest as it might be, Hurrah, Gordy, no pulpery, at which he would gravely pull off his hat and bow. When they reached the town and rode along the streets, these notices became more frequent. Some laughed, some hissed, some turned to their heads and smiled, some wondered who he was, some ran along the pavement by his side and cheered. When this happened in a crush of carts and chairs and coaches, he would make a dead stop and pulling off his hat, cry, gentlemen, no pulpery, to which the gentleman would respond with lusty voices and with three times three, and then Oni would go again with a score or so of the raggedest following at his horse's heels and shouting till their throats were parched. The old ladies, too, there were a great many old ladies in the streets, and these all knew him. Some of them, not those of the highest rank, but such as sold fruit from baskets and carried burdens, clapped their shriveled hands and raised a wheezing piping shrill, Hurrah, my lord! Others waived their hands or handkerchiefs or shook their fans or parasols or threw up windows and called in haste to those within to come and see. All these marks of popular esteem he received with profound gravity and respect, bowing very low and so frequently that his hat was more off his head than on, and looking up at the houses as he passed along with the air of one who was making a public entry and yet was not puffed up or proud. So they rode to the deep and unspeakable disgust of John Groobie, the whole length of white chapel led in all street and cheap side, and into St. Paul's churchyard. Arriving close to the cathedral he halted, spoke to Gashford, and looking upward at his lofty dome shook his head as though he said, the church in danger. Then, to be sure, the bystanders stretched their throats indeed, and he went on again with mighty acclamations from the mob and lower bows than ever. So along the strand up Swallow Street into the Oxford Road and thence to his house in Wellbeck Street near Cavendish Square, whether he was attended by a few dozen idlers of whom he took leave on the steps with this brief parting. Gentlemen, no popery. Good day. God bless you. This being rather a shorter address than they expected was received with some displeasure and cries of a speech, a speech, which might have been complied with but that John Groobie, making a mad charge upon them with all three horses on his way to the stables, caused them to disperse into the adjoining fields, where they presently fell to pitch and toss, chuck farthing, odd or even, dog fighting, and other protestant recreations. In the afternoon, Lord George came forth again dressed in a black velvet coat and trousers and waistcoat of the Gordon plaid, all of the same Quaker cut, and in this costume, which made him look a dozen times more strange and singular than before, went down on foot to Westminster. Gashford, meanwhile, bestowed himself in business matters, with which he was still engaged when, shortly after dusk, John Groobie entered and announced to visitor. Let him come in, said Gashford. Here, come in, growled John to somebody without. You're a protestant, aren't you? I should think so, replied a deep, gruff voice. You've the looks of it, said John Groobie. I'd have known you for one anywhere. With which remark he gave the visitor admission, retired and shut the door. The man who now confronted Gashford was a squat, thick-set personage, with a low retreating forehead, a coarse, shock-head of hair, and eyes so small and near together, that his broken nose alone seemed to prevent their meeting and fusing into one of the usual size. A dingy handkerchief twisted like a cord about his neck, left its great veins exposed to view, and they were swollen and starting, as though with gulping down strong passions, malice and ill-will. His dress was of threadbare velveteen, a faded, rusty, whitened black like the ashes of a pipe or a coal fire after a day's extinction, discolored with the soils of many a stale debauch, and reeking yet with pothouse odors. In lieu of buckles at his knees he wore unequal loops of packed thread, and in his grimy hands he held a knotted stick, the knob of which was carved into a rough lightness of his own vile face. Such was the visitor who doffed his three-cornered hat in Gashford's presence and waited leering for his notice. Ah, Dennis, cried the secretary, sit down. I see my lord down yonder, cried the man with a jerk of his thumb towards the quarter that he spoke of, and he says to me, says my lord, if you have nothing to do, Dennis, go up to my house and talk with Mr. Gashford. Of course I had nothing to do, you know, these aren't my working hours. I was taking the air when I see my lord, that's what I was doing. I take the air by night as the howls does, Mr. Gashford. And sometimes in the daytime, eh, said the secretary, when you go out in state, you know, ha, ha, reward the fellow smiting his leg. For a gentleman, as I'll say a pleasant thing in a pleasant way, give me Mr. Gashford again all London and Westminster. My lord ain't a badden at that, but he's a fool to you. Ah, to be sure, when I go out in state. And have your carriage, said the secretary, and your chaplain, eh, and all the rest of it. If you will be the death of me, cried Dennis, with another roar, you will. But what's in the wind now, Mr. Gashford, he asked torsely, eh, are we to be under orders to pull down one of them popish chapels or what? Hush, said the secretary, suffering the faintest smile to play upon his face. Hush, God bless me, Dennis, we associate you know for strictly peaceable and lawful purposes. I know, bless you, returned the man, thrusting his tongue into his cheek. I entered a purpose, didn't I? No doubt, said Gashford, smiling as before. And when he said so, Dennis roared again and smote his leg still harder, and falling into fits of laughter, wiped his eyes with the corner of his necrochiff and cried, Mr. Gashford again all England hollow. Lord George and I were talking of you last night, said Gashford, after a pause. He says you are a very earnest fellow. So I am, returned the hangman. And that you truly hate the papists. So I do. And you confirmed it with a good round oath. Look here, Mr. Gashford, said the fellow, laying his hat and stick upon the floor and slowly beating the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other. Observe. I'm a constitutional officer that works for my living and does my work creditable. Do I or do I not? Unquestionably. Very good. Stop a minute. My work is sound, Protestant, constitutional English work. Is it or is it not? No man alive can doubt it. They're dead neither. Parliament says this here, since Parliament, if any man, woman, or child does anything which goes again a certain number of our acts, how many hanging laws may there be at this present time, Mr. Gashford, 50? I don't exactly know how many, replied Gashford, leaning back in his chair and yawning. A great number, though. We'll say 50. Parliament says, if any man, woman, or child does anything again any one of them 50 acts, that man, woman, or child shall be worked off by Dennis. George III steps in when they number very strong at the end of a sessions and says, these are too many for Dennis. I'll have half for myself and Dennis shall have half for himself. And sometimes he throws me in one over that I don't expect, as he did three years ago, when I got Mary Jones. A young woman of nineteen will come up to Tyburn with an infinite abreast and was worked off for taking a piece of cloth off the counter of a shop in Ludgate Hill and putting it down again when the shopman see her. And who had never done any harm before and only tried to do that in consequence of her husband having been pressed three weeks previous and she being left to beg with two young children as was proved upon the trial. Well, that being the law and the practice of England is the glory of England and it, Mr. Gashford, certainly said the Secretary. And in times to come pursue the hangman if our grandsons should think of their grandfather's times and find these things altered they'll say those were days indeed and we've been going downhill ever since. Won't they, Mr. Gashford? I have no doubt they will, said the Secretary. Well, then look here, said the hangman. If these papers gets into power and begins to boil and roast instead of hang what becomes of my work? If they touch my work that's a part of so many laws what becomes of the laws in general? What becomes of the religion? What becomes of the country? Did you ever go to church, Mr. Gashford? Ever, repeated the Secretary with some indignation? Of course. Well, said the Ruffian, I've been once, twice counting the time I was christened and when I heard the Parliament prayed for and thought how many new hanging laws they made every sessions I considered that I was prayed for. Now mine, Mr. Gashford, said the fellow, taking up his stick and shaking it with a ferocious air. I must not have my Protestant work touched nor this here Protestant state of things altered in no degree if I can help it. I must not have no papers interfering with me unless they come to be worked off in course of law. I must not have no biling, no roasting, no frying, nothing but hanging. My Lord may well call me an earnest fellow. In support of the great Protestant principle of having plenty of that I'll—and here he beat his club upon the ground—burn, fight, kill, do anything you bid me so that it's bold and devilish, though the end of it was that I got hung myself. There, Mr. Gashford, he appropriately followed up this frequent prostitution of a noble word to the vilest purposes by pouring out in a kind of ecstasy at least a score of most tremendous oaths. Then wiped his heated face upon his neckerchiff and cried, No popery! I'm a religious man by G. Gashford had lent back in his chair regarding him with eyes so sunken and so shadowed by his heavy brows that for ought the hangman saw of them he might have been stoned blind. He remained smiling in silence for a short time longer and then said slowly and distinctly, You are indeed an earnest fellow, Dennis, a most valuable fellow, the staunchest man I know of in our ranks. But you must calm yourself. You must be peaceful, lawful, mild as any lamb. I am sure you will be, though. Hey, hey, we shall see, Mr. Gashford. We shall see. You won't have to complain of me, return to the other, shaking his head. I am sure I shall not, said the secretary in the same mild tone with the same emphasis. We shall have, we think, about next month or May, when this paper's relief bill comes before the house, to convene our whole body for the first time. My lord has thoughts of our walking and procession through the streets, just as an innocent display of strength and accompanying our petition down to the door of the House of Commons. The sooner the better, said Dennis with another oath. We shall have to draw up in divisions, our numbers being so large, and I believe I may venture to say, resumed Gashford, affecting not to hear the interruption, though I have no direct instructions to that effect, that Lord George's thought of you as an excellent leader for one of these parties. I have no doubt you would be an admirable one. Try me, said the fellow with an ugly wink. You would be cool, I know, pursued the secretary, still smiling, and still managing his eyes so that he could watch him closely and really not be seen in turn, obedient to orders and perfectly temperate. You would lead your party into no danger, I am certain. I'd lead the muster, Gashford. The hangman was beginning in a reckless way. When Gashford started forward, laid his finger on his lips and feigned to write, just as the door was opened by John Groobie. Oh, said John, looking in. Here's another Protestant. Some of the room John cried Gashford in his blandest voice. I am engaged just now. But John had brought this new visitor to the door, and he walked in unbidden as the words were uttered. Giving to view the form and features, rough attire and reckless air of Hugh. End of Chapter 37 Chapter 38 of Barnaby Rudge This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens Chapter 38 The secretary put his hand before his eyes to shade them from the glare of the lamp, and for some moments looked at Hugh with a frowning brow, as if he remembered to have seen him lately, but could not call to mind where, or on what occasion. His uncertainty was very brief. For before Hugh had spoken a word, he said, as his countenance cleared up. Aye, aye, I recollect. That's quite right, John. You needn't wait. Don't go, Dennis. Your servant, Master, said Hugh as Groobie disappeared. Yours, friend, returned the secretary in his smoothest manner. What brings you here? We left nothing behind us, I hope. Hugh gave a short laugh, and, thrusting his hand into his breast, produced one of the hand-bills, soiled and dirty from lying out of doors all night, which he laid upon the secretary's desk after flattening it upon his knee, and smoothing out the wrinkles with his heavy palm. Nothing but that, Master. It fell into good hands, you see. What is this? said Gashford, turning it over with an air of perfectly natural surprise. Where did you get it from, my good fellow? What does it mean? I don't understand this at all. A little disconcerted by this reception, Hugh looked from the secretary to Dennis, who had risen and was standing at the table, too, observing the stranger by stealth, and seeming to derive the utmost satisfaction from his manners and appearance. Considering himself silently appealed to by this action, Mr. Dennis shook his head thrice, as if to say of Gashford, No, he don't know anything at all about it, and no, he don't. I'll take my oath, he don't. And hiding his profile from Hugh, with one long end of his browsy neckerchief, nodded and chuckled behind the screen in extreme approval of the secretary's proceedings. It tells the man that finds it to come here, don't it? Ask Hugh. I'm no scholar myself, but I showed it to a friend, and he said it did. It certainly does, said Gashford, opening his eyes to their utmost width. Really, this is the most remarkable circumstance I have ever known. How did you come by this piece of paper, my good friend? Mr. Gashford wheezed the hangman under his breath, again all new-gate. Whether Hugh heard him, or saw by his manner that he was being played upon, or perceived the secretary's drift of himself, he came in his blunt way to the point at once. Here, he said, stretching out his hand and taking it back, never mind of the bill, or what it says or what it don't say. You don't know anything about it, master. No more do I. No more does he. Glancing at Dennis. None of us know what it means or where it comes from. There's an end of that. Now, I want to make one against the Catholics. I'm an old pulpery, man, and ready to be sworn in. That's what I've come here for. Put him down on the roll, Mr. Gashford said, Dennis approvingly. That's the way to go to work, right to the end at once, and no pull-over. What's the use of shooting wide at the mark, eh, old boy? cried Hugh. My sentiments all over rejoined the hangman. This is the sort of chap for my division, Mr. Gashford. Down with him, sir, put him on the roll. I'd stand Godfather to him if he was to be christened in a bonfire made of the ruins of the Bank of England. With these and other expressions of confidence of the like-flattering kind, Mr. Dennis gave him a hearty slap on the back, which he was not slow to return. No pulpery, brother, cried the hangman. No property, brother, who responded, Hugh. Pulpery, pulpery, said the Secretary with his usual mildness. It's all the same, cried Dennis. It's all right. Down with him, Mr. Gashford. Down with everybody, down with everything. Hurrah for the Protestant religion. That's the time of day, Mr. Gashford. The Secretary regarded them both with a very favorable expression of countenance, while they gave loose to these and other demonstrations of their patriotic purpose. It was about to make some remark aloud when Dennis, stepping up to him and shading his mouth with his hand, said in a hoarse whisper as he nudged him with his elbow. Don't split upon the constitutional officer's profession, Mr. Gashford. There are popular prejudices, you know, and he might like it. Wait till he comes to be more intimate with me. He's a fine-built chap, ain't he? A powerful fellow, indeed. Did you ever, Mr. Gashford, whispered Dennis with a horrible kind of admiration, such as that with which a cannibal might regard his intimate friend when hungry? Did you ever, and here he drew still closer to his ear and fenced his mouth with both his open hands, see such a throat as his? Do but cast your eye upon it. There is a neck for stretching, Mr. Gashford. The Secretary ascended to this proposition with the best grace he could assume. It is difficult to feign a true professional relish, which is eccentric sometimes, and after asking the candidate a few unimportant questions, proceeded to enroll him, a member of the Great Protestant Association of England. If anything could have exceeded Mr. Dennis's joy on the happy conclusion of this ceremony, it would have been the rapture with which he received the announcement that the new member could neither read nor write. Those two arts being, as Mr. Dennis swore, the greatest possible curse a civilized community could know, and militating more against the professional emoluments and usefulness of the great constitutional office he had the honor to hold, than any adverse circumstances that could present themselves to his imagination. The enrollment being completed, and Hugh having been informed by Gashford in his peculiar manner, of the peaceful and strictly lawful objects contemplated by the body to which he now belonged, during which recital Mr. Dennis nudged him very much with his elbow and made diverse, remarkable faces, the Secretary gave them both to understand that he desired to be alone. Therefore they took their leaves without delay and came out of the house together. A walking brother, said Dennis, hey, returned Hugh, where you will. That's social, said his new friend. Which way shall we take? Shall we go and have a look at doors that we shall make a pretty good clattering at before long, hey, brother? Hugh, answering in the affirmative, they went slowly down to Westminster, where both houses of parliament were then sitting. Mingling in the crowd of carriages, horses, servants, chairman, link boys, porters, and idlers of all kinds, they lounged about. While Hugh's new friend pointed out to him significantly the weak parts of the building, how easy it was to get into the lobby and sort of the very door of the House of Commons, and how plainly, when they marched down there in grand array, their roars and shouts would be heard by the members inside, were the great deal more to the same purpose, all of which Hugh received with manifest delight. He told him, too, who some of the lords in Commons were, by name, as they came in and out, whether they were friendly to the papists or otherwise, and bade him take notice of their liveries and equipages that he might be sure of them in case of need. Sometimes he drew him close to the windows of a passing carriage that he might see its master's face by the light of the lamps. And both in respect of people and localities, he showed so much acquaintance with everything around that it was plain he had often studied there before, as indeed when they grew a little more confidential, he confessed he had. Perhaps the most striking part of all this was the number of people, never in groups of more than two or three together, who seemed to be skulking about the crowd for the same purpose. To the greater part of these, a slight nod or a look from Hugh's companion was sufficient greeting. But now and then some man would come and stand beside him in the throng, and without turning his head or appearing to communicate with him would say a word or two in a low voice, which he would answer in the same cautious manner. Then they would part like strangers. Some of these men often reappeared again unexpectedly in the crowd close to Hugh, and as they passed by pressed his hand or looked him sternly in the face, but they never spoke to him, nor he to them. No, not a word. It was remarkable, too, that whenever they happened to stand where there was any press of people, and Hugh chance to be looking downward, he was sure to see an arm stretched out, under his own perhaps, or perhaps across him, which thrust some paper into the hand or pocket of a bystander, and was so suddenly withdrawn that it was impossible to tell from whom it came. Nor could he see in any face, unglancing quickly round, the least confusion or surprise. They often trod upon a paper like the one he carried in his breast, but his companion whispered him not to touch it or to take it up, not even to look towards it. So there they let them lie and passed on. When they had paraded the street and all the avenues of the building in this manner for near two hours, they turned away, and his friend asked him what he thought of what he had seen, and whether he was prepared for a good hot piece of work if it should come to that. The hotter the better, said Hugh, I'm prepared for anything. So am I, said his friend, and so are many of us. And they shook hands upon it with a great oath, and with many terrible implications on the papists. As they were thirsty by this time, Dennis proposed that they should prepare together to the boot, where there was good company and strong liquor. Hugh yielding a ready assent, they bent their steps that way with no loss of time. This boot was a lone house of public entertainment situated in the fields at the back of the Foundling Hospital, a very solitary spot at that period, and quite deserted after dark. The tavern stood at some distance from any high road and was approachable only by a dark and narrow lane, so that Hugh was much surprised to find several people drinking there, and great merriment going on. He was still more surprised to find among them almost every face that had caught his attention in the crowd. But his companion, having whispered him outside the door, that it was not considered good manners at the boot to appear at all curious about the company, he kept his own counsel and made no show of recognition. Before putting his lips to the liquor which was brought for them, Dennis drank in a loud voice the health of Lord George Gordon, President of the Great Protestant Association, which toast Hugh pledged likewise with corresponding enthusiasm. A fiddler who was present and who appeared to act as the appointed minstrel of the company, forthwith struck up a Scotch reel, and that, in tone so invigorating that Hugh and his friend, who had both been drinking before, rose from their seats as by previous concert, and to the great admiration of the assembled guests, performed an extemporaneous no-pulpery dance. End of Chapter 38 The applause which the performance of Hugh and his new friend elicited from the company at the boot had not yet subsided, and the two dancers were still panting from their exertions, which had been of a rather extreme and violent character, when the party was reinforced by the arrival of some more guests, who, being a detachment of united bulldogs, were received with very flattering marks of distinction and respect. The leader of this small party, for including himself, they were but three in number, was our old acquaintance Mr. Tappertit, who seemed, physically speaking, to have grown smaller with years, particularly as to his legs which were stupendously little. But Hugh, in a moral point of view, in personal dignity and self-esteem, had swelled into a giant. Nor was it by any means difficult for the most unobservant person to detect this state of feeling in the quantum prentice, for it not only proclaimed itself impressively and beyond mistake in his majestic walk and kindling eye, but found a striking means of revelation in his turned-up nose, which scouted all things of earth with deep disdain and sought communion with its kindred skies. Mr. Tappertit, as chief or captain of the bulldogs, was attended by his two lieutenants, one the tall comrade of his younger life, the other, apprentice knight in days of yore, Mark Gilbert, bound in the olden time to Thomas Cursen of the Golden Fleece. These gentlemen, like himself, were now emancipated from their apprentice thralldom and served as journeymen. But they were, in humble emulation of his great example, bold and daring spirits, and aspired to a distinguished state in great political events. Hence their connection with the Protestant Association of England, sanctioned by the name of Lord George Gordon, and hence their present visit to the boot. Gentlemen, said Mr. Tappertit, taking off his hat as a great general might in addressing his troops, well met, my lord does me and you the honor to send his compliments per self. You've seen my lord too, have you? said Dennis. I see him this afternoon. My duty called me to the lobby when our shop shut up, and I saw him there, sir, Mr. Tappertit replied, as he and his lieutenants took their seats. How do you do? Lively, master, lively, said the fellow, here's a new brother, regularly put down in black and white by Mr. Gashford, a credit to the clause, one of the stick-at-nothing sort, one art of my own heart. Do you see him? Has he got the looks of a man that'll do, do you think? He cried as he slapped two on the back. Looks or no looks, said Hugh, with the drunken flourish of his arm. I'm the man you want. I hate the papas, it's every one of them. They hate me and I hate them. They do me all the harm they can, and I'll do them all the harm I can. Hurrah! Was there ever, said Dennis, looking round the room, when the echo of his boisterous voice had died away? Was there ever such a game boy? Why, I mean to say, brothers, that if Mr. Gashford had gone a hundred miles and got together fifty men of the common run, they wouldn't have been worth this one. The greater part of the company implicitly subscribed to this opinion, and testified their faith in Hugh by nods and looks of great significance. Mr. Tappertit sat and contemplated him for a long time in silence, as if he suspended his judgment. Then drew a little nearer to him, and eyed him over more carefully. Then went close up to him and took him apart into a dark corner. I say, he began with a thoughtful brow. Haven't I seen you before? As like you may, said Hugh in his careless way. I don't know, shouldn't wonder. No, but it's very easily settled. Returns him. Look at me. Did you ever see me before? You wouldn't be likely to forget it, you know, if you ever did. Look at me. Don't be afraid, I won't do you any harm. Take a good look. Steady now. The encouraging way in which Mr. Tappertit made this request, and coupled it with an assurance that he needed to be frightened, amused Hugh mightily. So much indeed that he saw nothing at all of the small man before him, through closing his eyes in a fit of hearty laughter, which shook his great broad sides until they ached again. Come, said Mr. Tappertit, growing a little impatient under this disrespectful treatment. Do you know me, feller? Not I, cried Hugh. Not I, but I should like to. And yet I'd have wagered to seventh-showing peace, said Mr. Tappertit, folding his arms and confronting him with his legs wide apart and firmly planted on the ground, that you once were hustler at the maypole. Hugh opened his eyes on hearing this and looked at him in great surprise. And so you were, too, said Mr. Tappertit, pushing him away with the condescending playfulness. When did my eyes ever deceive? Unless it was a young woman. Don't you know me now? Why it ain't, Hugh faltered. And it, said Mr. Tappertit, are you sure of that? You remember G. Varden, don't you? Certainly Hugh did, and he remembered D. Varden, too, but that he didn't tell him. You remember coming down there before I was out of my time to ask after a vagabond that had bolted off and left his disconsolate father a prey to the bitterest emotions and all the rest of it? Don't you, said Mr. Tappertit? Of course I do, cried Hugh, and I saw you there. Saw me there, said Mr. Tappertit. Yes, I should think you did see me there. The place would be troubled to go on without me. Don't you remember my thinking you liked the vagabond and on that account going to quarrel with you and then finding you detested him worse than poison, going to drink with you? Don't you remember that? To be sure, cried Hugh. Well, and are you in the same mind now, said Mr. Tappertit? Yes, roared Hugh. You speak like a man, said Mr. Tappertit, and I'll shake hands with you. With these conciliatory expressions he suited the action to the word, and Hugh meeting his advances readily, they performed the ceremony with a show of great heartiness. I find, said Mr. Tappertit, looking round on the assembled guests, that brother what's his name and I are old acquaintance. You never heard anything more of that rascal, I suppose, eh? Not a syllable, replied Hugh. I never want to. I don't believe I ever shall. He's dead long ago, I hope. It's to be hoped for the sake of mankind in general and the happiness of society that he is, said Mr. Tappertit, rubbing his palm upon his legs and looking at it between wiles. Is your other hand at all cleaner? Much the same. Well, I'll owe you another shake. We'll suppose it done, if you've no objection. Hugh laughed again, and with such thorough abandonment to his mad humor, that his limbs seemed dislocated and his whole frame in danger of tumbling to pieces. But Mr. Tappertit, so far from receiving this extreme merriment with any irritation, was pleased to regard it with the utmost favor and even to join in it, so far as one of his gravity and station could, with any regard to that decency and decorum which men in high places are expected to maintain. Mr. Tappertit did not stop here, as many public characters might have done, but calling up his brace of lieutenants introduced Hugh to them with high commendation, declaring him to be a man who, at such times as those in which they lived, could not be too much cherished. Further he did the honor to remark that he would be an acquisition of which even though united bulldogs might be proud, and finding, upon sounding him, that he was quite ready and willing to enter the society, for he was not at all particular and would have leaked himself that night with anything or anybody, for any purpose whatsoever, caused the necessary preliminaries to be gone into upon the spot. This tribute to his great merit delighted no man more than Mr. Dennis, as he himself proclaimed with several rare and surprising oaths, and indeed it gave unmingled satisfaction to the whole assembly. Make any thing you like of me, cried Hugh, flourishing the can he had emptied more than once. Put me on any duty you please. I am your man. I'll do it. Here's my captain. Here's my leader. Ha, ha, ha! Let him give me the word of command, and I'll fight the whole Parliament House single-handed, or set a lighted torch to the king's throne itself. With that he smote Mr. Taperton on the back with such violence that his little body seemed to shrink into a mere nothing, and roared again until the very foundlings near at hand were startled in their beds. In fact, a sense of something whimsical in their companionship seemed to have taken entire possession of his rude brain. The bare fact of being patronized by a great man whom he could have crushed with one hand appeared in his eyes so eccentric and humorous that a kind of ferocious merriment gained the mastery over him and quite subdued his brutal nature. He roared and roared again, toasted Mr. Taperton a hundred times, declared himself a bulldog to the core, and vowed to be faithful to him to the last drop of blood in his veins. All these compliments Mr. Taperton received as matters of course, flattering enough in their way but entirely attributable to his vast superiority. His dignified self-possession only delighted Hugh the Moor, and, in a word, this giant and dwarf struck up a friendship which made fair to be of long continuance, as the one held it to be his right to command, and the other considered it an exquisite pleasantry to obey. Nor was Hugh by any means a passive follower, whose groupled to act without precise and definite orders, for when Mr. Taperton mounted on an empty cask which stood by way of rostrum in the room and volunteered a speech upon the alarming crisis then at hand, he placed himself beside the orator, and though he grinned from ear to ear at every word he said, throughout such expressive hints to scoffers in the management of his cudgel, that those who were at first the most disposed to interrupt became remarkably attentive and were the loudest in their approbation. It was not all noise and jest, however, at the boot, nor were the whole party listeners to the speech. There were some men at the other end of the room, which was a long, low-roof chamber, in earnest conversation all the time, and when any of this group went out fresh people were sure to come in soon afterwards and sit down in their places, as though the others had relieved them on some watch or duty, which was pretty clear they did, for these changes took place by the clock at intervals of half an hour. These persons whispered very much among themselves and kept aloof, and often looked round as jealous of their speech being overheard. Some two or three among them entered in books what seemed to be reports from the others. When they were not thus employed, one of them would turn to the newspapers, which were strewn upon the table, and from the St. James Chronicle, the Herald Chronicle or Public Advertiser, would read to the rest, in a low voice, some passage having referenced to the topic in which they were all so deeply interested. But the great attraction was a pamphlet called The Thunderer, which espoused their own opinions and was supposed, at that time, to emanate directly from the association. This was always in request, and whether read aloud to an eager nod of listeners or by some solitary man was certain to be followed by stormy talking and excited looks. In the midst of all his merriment and admiration of his captain, Hugh was made sensible by these and other tokens of the presence of an air of mystery akin to that which had so much impressed him out of doors. It was impossible to discard a sense that something serious was going on and that under the noisy revel of the public house there lurked unseen and dangerous matter. Little affected by this, however, he was perfectly satisfied with his quarters and would have remained there till morning, but that his conductor rose soon after midnight to go home. Mr. Tappertit, following his example, left him no excuse to stay. So they all three left the house together, roaring a no-pulpery song until the fields resounded with the dismal noise. Cheer up, Captain! cried Hugh, when they had roared themselves out of breath. Another stave! Mr. Tappertit, nothing loathed, began again, and so the three went staggering on, arm in arm, shouting like madmen and defying the watch with great valor. Indeed, this did not require any unusual bravery or boldness, as the watchmen of that time, being selected for the office on account of excessive age and extraordinary infirmity, had a custom of shutting themselves up tight in their boxes on the first symptoms of disturbance and remaining there until they disappeared. In these proceedings Mr. Dennis, who had a grump voice and lungs of considerable power, distinguished himself very much and acquired great credit with his two companions. What a queer fellow you are, said Mr. Tappertit. You're so precious, sly and close. Why don't you ever tell what trade you're of? Answered the Captain instantly, cried Hugh, beating his hat down on his head. Why don't you ever tell what trade you're of? I'm of as gentile a calling brother as any man in England, as light a business as any gentleman could desire. Was your apprentice to it? asked Mr. Tappertit. No, natural genius, said Mr. Dennis. No apprenticing. It come by Nader. Mr. Gashford knows my calling. Look at that hand of mine. Many and many a job that hand is done with a neatness and dexterity never known before. When I look at that hand, said Mr. Dennis, shaking it in the air, and remember the elegant bits of work it has turned off, I feel quite malanchalied to think it should ever grow old in feeble but sit his life. He heaved a deep sigh as he indulged in these reflections, and putting his fingers with an absent air on Hugh's throat, and particularly under his left ear, as if he were studying the anatomical development of that part of his frame, shook his head in a despondent manner, and actually shed tears. Your kind of artist, I suppose, eh? said Mr. Tappertit. Yes, rejoined Dennis. Yes, I may call myself an artist, a fancy workman, art-improved nature. That's my motto. And what do you call this? said Mr. Tappertit, taking his stick out of his hand. That's my portrait atop, Dennis replied. Do you think it's like? Why, it's a little too handsome, said Mr. Tappertit. Who did it, you? I, repeated Dennis, gazing fondly on his image, I wish I had the talent. That was carved by a friend of mine as is now no more. The very day before he died he cut that with his pocket knife from memory. I'll die game, says my friend, and my last moments shall be devoted to making Dennis's picture. That's it. That was a queer fancy, wasn't it? said Mr. Tappertit. It was a queer fancy, rejoined the other, breathing on his fictitious nose and polishing it with the cup of his coat. But he was a queer subject altogether, a kind of gypsy, one of the finest stand-up men you ever see. Ah, he told me some things that would startle you a bit, did that friend of mine, and the morning when he died? You were with him at the time, were you? said Mr. Tappertit. Yes, he answered with a curious look. I was there. Oh, yes, certainly I was there. He wouldn't have gone off half as comfortable without me. I had been with three or four of his family under the same circumstances. They were all fine fellows. They must have been fond of you, remarked Mr. Tappertit, looking at him sideways. I don't know that they was exactly fond of me, said Dennis, with a little hesitation. But they all had me near them when they departed. I come in for their ward robes, too. This very hankiture that you see round my neck belonged to him that I have been speaking of. Him has did that likeness. Mr. Tappertit glanced at the article referred to and appeared to think that the deceased's ideas of dress were of a peculiar and by no means an expensive kind. He made no remark upon the point, however, and suffered his mysterious companion to proceed without interruption. These smalls, said Dennis, rubbing his legs, these very smalls, they belong to a friend of mine that's left off such encumbrances forever. This coat, too, I've often walked behind this coat in the street and wondered whether it would ever come to me. This pair of shoes have danced a hornpipe for another man before my eyes, full half a dozen times at least. And as to my hat, he said, taking it off and whirling it round upon his fist. Lord, I've seen this hat go up Holburn on the box of a hackney-coach many and many a day. You don't mean to say their old wearers are all dead, I hope, said Mr. Tappertit, falling a little distance from him as he spoke. Every one of them replied Dennis, every man jacked. There was something so very ghastly in the circumstance that it appeared to account in such a very strange and dismal manner for his faded dress, which in this new aspect seemed discolored by the earth from graves, that Mr. Tappertit abruptly found he was going another way, and stopping short made him good night with the utmost hardiness. As they happened to be near the Old Bailey, and Mr. Dennis knew there were turnkeys in the lodge with whom he could pass the night and discuss professional subjects of common interest among them before a rousing fire and over a social glass, he separated from his companions without any great regret, and warmly shaking hands with Hugh and making an early appointment for their meeting at the boot, left them to pursue their road. That's a strange sort of man, said Mr. Tappertit, watching the hackney coachman's hat as it went bobbing down the street. I don't know what to make of him. Why can't he have his smalls made to order or wear live clothes at any rate? He's a lucky man, Captain cried Hugh. I should like to have such friends as his. I hope he don't get him to make their wills and then knock him on the head, said Mr. Tappertit musing. But come, the United Bees expect me. On. What's the matter? I quite forgot, said Hugh, who had started at the striking of a neighboring clock. I have somebody to see tonight. I must turn back directly. The drinking and singing put it out of my head, as well I remembered it. Mr. Tappertit looked at him as though he were about to give utterance to some very majestic sentiments in reference to this act of desertion. But as it was clear from Hugh's hasty manner that the engagement was one of a pressing nature, he graciously forbore and gave him his permission to depart immediately, which Hugh acknowledged with a roar of laughter. Good night, Captain, he cried, I am yours to the death. Remember. Farewell, said Mr. Tappertit waving his hand, be bold and vigilant. No pulpery, Captain, roared Hugh. England in blood first, cried his desperate leader, where at Hugh cheered and laughed and ran off like a greyhound. That man will prove a credit to my core, said Simon, turning thoughtfully upon his heel. And let me see. In an altered state of society which must ensue if we break out and are victorious, when the locksmith's child is mine, Miggs must be got rid of somehow, or shall poison the tea- kettle on a evening when I am out. He might marry Miggs if he was drunk enough. It shall be done. I'll make a note of it. CHAPTER 40 Little thinking of the plan for his happy settlement in life which had suggested itself to the teeming brain of his provident commander, Hugh made no pause until St. Dunstan's giants struck the hour above him, when he worked the handle of a pump which stood hard by with great vigor, and thrusting his head under the spout, let the water gush upon him until a little stream ran down from every uncombed hair, and he was wet to the waist. Considerably refreshed by this ablution, both in mind and body, and almost sobered for the time, he dried himself as he best could, then crossed the road and plied the knocker of the middle temple gate. The night porter looked through a small grating in the portal with a surly eye, and cried, Helloa! Which greeting, Hugh returned in kind, and bade him open quickly. We don't sell beer here, cried the man. What else do you want? To come in, Hugh replied, with a kick at the door. Where to go? Paper buildings. Whose chambers? Sir John Chester's. Each of which answers he emphasized with another kick. After a little growling on the other side the gate was opened, and he passed in, undergoing a close inspection from the porter as he did so. You, wanting Sir John, at this time of night, said the man? A, said Hugh, I. What of that? Why, I must go with you and see that you do, for I don't believe it. Come along, then. Eyeing him with suspicious looks, the man, with key and lantern, walked on at his side, and attended him to Sir John Chester's door, at which Hugh gave one knock that echoed through the dark staircase like a ghostly summons, and made the dull light tremble in the drowsy lamp. Do you think he wants me now? said Hugh. Before the man had time to answer, a footstep was heard within. A light appeared, and Sir John, in his dressing gown and slippers, opened the door. I ask your pardon, Sir John, said the porter, pulling off his hat. Here's the young man says he wants to speak to you. It's late for strangers. I thought it best to see that all was right. Aha! cried Sir John, raising his eyebrows. It's you, messenger, is it? Go in, quite right, friend. I commend your prudence highly. Thank you. God bless you. Good night. To be commended, thanked, God blessed, and bade good night by one who carried Sir before his name, and wrote himself MP to boot with something for a porter. He withdrew with much humility and reverence. Sir John followed his late visitor into the dressing room, and sitting in his easy chair before the fire and moving it so that he could see him as he stood, hat in hand, beside the door, looked at him from head to foot. The old face, calm and pleasant as ever, the complexion quite juvenile in its bloom and clearness, the same smile, the wanted precision and elegance of dress, the white well-ordered teeth, the delicate hands, the composed and quiet manner, everything as it used to be, no mark of age or passion, envy, hate or discontent, all unruffled and serene and quite delightful to behold. He wrote himself MP, but how? Why thus? It was a proud family, more proud indeed than wealthy. He had stood in danger of arrest, of bailiffs and a jail, a vulgar jail to which the common people with small incomes went. Gentlemen of ancient houses have no privilege of exemption from such cruel laws, unless they are of one great house and then they have. A proud man of his stocking kindred had the means of sending him there. He offered, not indeed to pay his debts, but to let him sit for a close borough until his own son came of age, which, if he lived, would come to pass in twenty years. It was quite as good as an insolvent act and infinitely more genteel, so Sir John Chester was a member of Parliament. But how, Sir John? Nothing so simple or so easy. One touch with a sword of state and the transformation was effected. John Chester Esquire, MP, attended court, went up with an address, headed a deputation. Such elegance of manner, so many graces of deportment, such powers of conversation could never pass unnoticed. Mr. was too common for such merit. A man so gentlemanly should have been, but fortune is capricious, born a duke. Just as some duke should have been born laborers. He caught the fancy of the king, knelt down a grub and rose a butterfly. John Chester Esquire was knighted and became Sir John. I thought when you left me this evening my esteemed acquaintance, said Sir John, after a pretty long silence, that you intended to return with all dispatch. So I did, master. And so you have, he retorted, glancing at his watch. Is that what you would say? Instead of replying, he who changed the leg on which he lent, shuffled his cap from one hand to the other, looked at the ground, the wall, the ceiling, and finally at Sir John himself, before whose pleasant face he lowered his eyes again and fixed them on the floor. And how have you been employing yourself in the meanwhile? Quote Sir John, lazily crossing his legs. Where have you been? What harm have you been doing? No harm at all, master, growled Hugh, with humility. I have only done as you ordered. As I what, returned Sir John? Well then, said Hugh uneasily, as you advised, or said I ought, or said I might, or said that you would do if it was me, don't be so hard upon me, master. Something like an expression of triumph in the perfect control he had established over this rough instrument appeared in the night's face for an instant, but it vanished directly as he said, pairing his nails while speaking. When you say I ordered you, my good fellow, you imply that I directed you to do something for me, something I wanted done, something for my own ends and purposes, you see. Now I am sure I needn't enlarge upon the extreme absurdity of such an idea, however unintentional. So please, and here he turned his eyes upon him, to be more guarded, will you? I meant to give you no offence, said Hugh, I don't know what to say. You catch me up so very short. You will be caught up much shorter, my good friend, infinitely shorter one of these days, depend upon it, replied his patron calmly. By the by, instead of wondering why you have been so long, my wonder should be why you came at all. Why did you? You know, master, said Hugh, that I couldn't read the bill I found, and that supposing it to be something particular from the way it was wrapped up, I brought it here. And could you ask no one else to read it, Ruin, said Sir Jalan? No one that I could trust with secrets, master, since Barnaby Rudge was lost sight of for good and all, and that's five years ago, I haven't talked with anyone but you. You have done me honor, I am sure. I have come to and fro, master, all through that time when there was anything to tell, because I knew that you'd be angry with me if I stayed away, said Hugh, blurting the words out after an embarrassed silence, and because I wished to please you if I could, and not to have you go against me. There, that's the true reason why I came to-night. You know that, master, I am sure. You are a specious fellow, returned Sir John, fixing his eyes upon him, and carried two faces under your hood as well as the best. Didn't you give me, in this room, this evening any other reason? No dislike of anybody who has slighted you lately on all occasions, abused you, treated you with rudeness, acted towards you more as if you were a mongrel dog than a man like himself? To be sure I did, cried Hugh, as past and rising as the other meant it should, and I say it all over now again. I do anything to have some revenge on him, anything, and when you told me that he and all the Catholics would suffer from those who joined together under that handbill, I said I'd make one of them if their master was the devil himself. I am one of them. See whether I am as good as my word and turn out to be among the foremost or no. I may not have much had, master, but I've had enough to remember those that use me ill. You shall see, and so shall he, and so shall hundreds more, how my spirit backs me when the time comes. My bark is nothing to my bite. Some that I know had better have a wild lion among them than me, when I am fairly loose they had. Tonight looked at him with a smile a far deeper meaning than ordinary, and pointing to the old cupboard followed him with his eyes while he filled and drank a glass of liquor, and a smile when his back was turned with deeper meaning yet. You were in a blustering mood, my friend, he said, when Hugh confronted him again. Not I, master, cried Hugh. I don't say half, I mean. I can't. I haven't got the gift. There are talkers enough among us, I'll be one of the doers. Oh, you have joined those fellows then, said Sir John, with an air of most profound indifference. Yes, I went up to the house you told me of, and got put down upon the muster. There was another man there named Dennis. Dennis, eh, cried Sir John, laughing, eh, eh, a pleasant fellow, I believe, a roaring dog, master, one after my own heart, hot upon the matter, too, red hot. So I have heard, replied Sir John carelessly, you don't happen to know his trade, do you? He wouldn't say, cried Hugh, he keeps it secret. Ha, ha, laughed Sir John, a strange fancy, a weakness with some persons, you'll know it one day, I dareswear. We're intimate already, said Hugh, quite natural. And have you been drinking together, eh, pursued Sir John? Did you say what place you went to in company when you left Lord George's? Hugh had not said or thought of saying, but he told him, in this inquiry being followed by a long train of questions, he related all that had passed both in and out of doors, the kind of people he had seen, their numbers, state of feeling, mode of conversation, apparent expectations and intentions. His questioning was so artfully contrived that he seemed, even in his own eyes, to volunteer all this information, rather than to have it rested from him. And he was brought to this state of feeling so naturally, that when Mr. Chester yawned at length and declared himself quite weary doubt, he made a rough kind of excuse for having talked so much. There, get ya gone, said Sir John, holding the door open in his hand. You have made a pretty evening's work. I told you not to do this. You may get into trouble. You'll have an opportunity of revenging yourself on your proud friend, Hairdale, though, and for that you'd hazard anything, I suppose. I would, retorted Hugh, stopping in his passage out and looking back. But what do I risk? What do I stand a chance of losing, Master? Friends? Home? A fig for them all. I have none. They are nothing to me. Give me a good scuffle. Let me pay off old scores and a bold riot where there are men to stand by me, and then use me as you like. It don't matter much to me what the end is. What have you done with that paper, said Sir John? I have it here, Master. Drop it again as you go along. It's as well not to keep such things about you. Hugh nodded and, touching his cap with an air of as much respect as he could summon up, departed. Sir John, fastening the doors behind him, went back to his dressing room and sat down once again before the fire at which he gazed for a long time in earnest meditation. This happens fortunately, he said, breaking into a smile, and promises well. Let me see. My relative and I, who are the most protestant fellows in the world, give our worst wishes to the Roman Catholic cause and to Seville, who introduces their bill. I have a personal objection besides. But as each of us has himself for the first article in his creed, we cannot commit ourselves by joining with a very extravagant madman such as this Gordon most undoubtedly is. Now, really, to foment his disturbances in secret through the medium of such a very apt instrument as my savage friend here may further our real ends, and to express that all becoming seasons in moderate and polite terms, a disapprobation of his proceedings, though we agree with him in principle, will certainly be to gain a character for honesty and uprightness of purpose which cannot fail to do us infinite service and to raise us into some importance. Good. So much for public grounds. As to private considerations, I confess that if these vagabonds would make some riotous demonstration which does not appear impossible, and would inflict some little chastisement on Herodale as a not inactive man among his sect, it would be extremely agreeable to my feelings and would amuse me beyond measure. Good again. Perhaps better. When he came to this point he took a pinch of snuff, then beginning slowly to undress he resumed his meditations by saying with a smile, A fear. I do fear exceedingly that my friend is following fast in the footsteps of his mother. His intimacy with Mr. Dennis is very ominous, but I have no doubt he must have come to that end anyway. If I lend him a helping hand the only difference is that he may, upon the whole, possibly drink a few gallons or punches or hogs heads less in this life than he otherwise would. It's no business of mine, it's a matter of very small importance. So he took another pinch of snuff and went to bed. End of Chapter 40 Chapter 41 of Barnaby-Rudge. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Barnaby-Rudge by Charles Dickens, Chapter 41 From the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a tinkling sound so merry and good-humored that it suggested the idea of someone working blithely and made quite pleasant music. No man who hammered on at a dominantness duty could have brought such cheerful notes from steel and iron. None but a chirping, healthy, honest-hearted fellow who made the best of everything and felt kindly towards everybody could have done it for an instant. He might have been a coppersmith and still been musical. If he had sat in a jolting wagon full of rods of iron it seemed as if he would have brought some harmony out of it. Tink, tink, tink! Clear as a silver bell and audible at every pause of the streets harsher noises as though it said, I don't care, nothing puts me out, I am resolved to be happy. Women scalded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by. Horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers. Still, it struck in again. No higher, no lower, no louder, no softer. Not thrusting itself on people's notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder sounds. Tink, tink, tink, tink, tink! There was a perfect embodiment of the still small voice, free from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind. Foot passengers slackened their pace and were disposed to linger near it. Neighbors who had got up splenetic that morning felt good humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite sprightly. Mothers danced their babies to its ringing, still the same magical tink, tink, tink came gaily from the workshop of the golden key. Who but the locksmith could have made such music. A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him as though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood, working at his anvil, his face all radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead, the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the world. Beside him sat a sleek cat purring and winking in the light and falling every now and then into an idle dose as from excess of comfort. Toby looked on from a tall bench hard by, one beaming smile from his broad, nut-round face down to the slack-baked buckles in his shoes. The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust and seemed like gaudy gentlemen of hearty natures disposed to joke on their infirmities. There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene. It seemed impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could fit a cheerly strongbox or a prison door. Sellers of beer and wine, rooms where there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter. These were their proper sphere of action. Places of distrust and cruelty and restraint they would have left quadruple locked forever. Tink, tink, tink! The locksmith paused at last and wiped his brow. The silence browsed the cat, who jumping softly down crept to the door and watched with tiger eyes a bird cage in an opposite window. Gabriel lifted Toby to his mouth and took a hardy draft. Then as he stood upright, with his head flung back and his portly chest thrown out, you would have seen that Gabriel's lower man was clothed in military gear. Glancing at the wall beyond, there might have been a spy hanging on their several pegs, a cap and feather, broadsword, sash, and coat of scarlet, which any man learned in such matters would have known from their makin' pattern to be the uniform of a sergeant in the Royal East London Volunteers. As the locksmith put his mug down, empty on the bench once it had smiled on him before, he glanced at these articles with a laughing eye and looking at them with his head a little on one side as though he would get them all into a focus, head leaning on his hammer. Time was, now I remember, when I was like to run mad with a desire to wear a coat of that color. If anyone except my father had called me a fool for my pains, how I should have fired and fumed. But what a fool I must have been, surely! Ah, Sidemus' Varden, who had entered unobserved, a fool indeed. A man at your time of life, Varden, should know better now. What a ridiculous woman you are, Martha, said the locksmith, running round with a smile. Certainly, replied Mrs. V, with great demureness, of course I am. I know that, Varden, thank you. I mean, began the locksmith. Yes, that is why, if I know what you mean, you speak quite plain enough to be understood, Varden, it's very kind of you to adapt yourself to my capacity, I am sure. Tat-tat, Martha, rejoined the locksmith, don't take offense at nothing. I mean how strange it is of you to run down volunteering when it's done to defend you and all the other women and get her own fireside and everybody else's, in case of need. It's un-Christian, cried Mrs. Varden, shaking her head. Un-Christian, said the locksmith, why, what the devil! Mrs. Varden looked at the ceiling as an expectation that the consequence of this profanity would be the immediate descent of the four post-beds dead on the second floor, together with the best sitting-room on the first. But no visible judgment occurring, she heaved a deep sigh and begged her husband, in a tone of resignation, to go on, and by all means to blaspheme as much as possible, because he knew she liked it. The locksmith did, for a moment, seem disposed to gratify her, but he gave a great gulp and mildly rejoined. I was going to say what on earth do you call it un-Christian for? Which would be most un-Christian, Martha, to sit quietly down and let our houses be sacked by a foreign army, or to turn out like men and drive them off? Shouldn't I be a nice sort of a Christian if I crept into a corner of my own chimney and looked on, while a parcel of whiskered savages bore off Dolly, or you? When he said, or you, Mrs. Vardin, despite herself, relaxed into a smile, there was something complementary in the idea. In such a state of things as that, indeed, she simpered. As that, repeated the locksmith, well, that would be the state of things directly, even Miggs would go. Some black tambourine player with a great turbanon would be bearing her off, and unless the tambourine player was proof against kicking and scratching, it's my belief he'd have the worst of it. Ha-ha-ha! I'd forgive the tambourine player. I wouldn't have him interfered with on any account, poor fellow. And here the locksmith laughed again so heartily that tears came into his eyes, much to Mrs. Vardin's indignation, who thought the capture of so sound a Protestant and estimable of private character as Miggs by a pagan negro a circumstance too shocking and awful for contemplation. The picture Gabriel had drawn, indeed, threatened serious consequences, and would indubitably have led to them. But luckily at that moment a light footstep crossed the threshold, and Dolly, running in, threw her arms round her old father's neck and hugged him tight. Here she is at last, cried Gabriel. And how well you look, Dolly! And how late you are, my darling! How well she looked! Well, why, if he had exhausted every laudatory adjective in the dictionary it wouldn't have been praise enough. When and where was there ever such a plump, roguish, comely, bright-eyed, enticing, bewitching, captivating, maddening little pus in all this world as Dolly? What was the Dolly a five years ago to the Dolly of that day? How many coach-makers, saddlers, cabinet-makers, and professors of other useful arts had deserted their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and most of all their cousins for the love of her? How many unknown gentlemen, supposed to be of mighty fortunes, not titles, had waited round the corner after dark and tempted migs the incorruptible with golden guineas to deliver offers of marriage folded up in love letters? How many disconsolate fathers and substantial tradesmen had waited on the locksmith for the same purpose with dismal tales of how their sons had lost their appetites and taken to shut themselves up in dark bedrooms and wandering in desolate suburbs with pale faces, and all because of Dollyvarden's loveliness and cruelty? How many young men, in all previous times of unprecedented steadiness, had turned suddenly wild and wicked for the same reason, and in an ecstasy of unrequited love taken to wrench off door-knockers and invert the boxes of rheumatic watchmen? How had she recruited the king's service both by sea and land through rendering desperate his loving subjects between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five? How many young ladies had publicly professed with tears in their eyes that for their tastes she was much too short, too tall, too bold, too cold, too stout, too thin, too fair, too dark, too everything but handsome? How many old ladies taking counsel together had thanked having their daughters were not like her, and had hoped she might come to no harm and had thought she would come to no good, and had wondered what people saw in her, and had arrived at the conclusion that she was going off in her looks or had never come on in them, and that she was a thorough imposition and a popular mistake. And yet here was the same Dollyvarden, so whimsical and hard to please that she was Dollyvarden still, all smiles and dimples and pleasant looks, and caring no more for the fifty or sixty young fellows who at that very moment were breaking their hearts to marry her, than if so many oysters had been crossed in love and opened afterwards. Dolly hugged her father, as has been already stated, and having hugged her mother also accompanied both into the little parlor where the cloth was already laid for dinner, and where Miss Miggs, a trifle more rigid and bony than of yore, received her with a sort of hysterical gasp intended for a smile. Into the hands of that young virgin she delivered her bonnet and walking dress, all of a dreadful artful and designing kind, and then said with a laugh which rivaled the locksmith's music, How glad I always am to be at home again! And how glad we always are, doll, said her father, putting back the dark hair from her sparkling eyes, to have you at home! Give me a kiss! If there had been anybody of the male kind there to see her do it, but there was not, it was a mercy. I don't like your being at the warden, said the locksmith. I can't bear to have you out of my sight. And what is the news over yonder, doll? What news there is, I think you know already, replied his daughter. I am sure you do, though. A. cried the locksmith. What's that? Come, come, said doll, you know very well. I want you to tell me why Mr. Hairdale, oh how gruff he is again, to be sure, has been away from home for some days past, and why he is traveling about, we know he is traveling because of his letters, without telling his own niece why or wherefore. Miss Emma doesn't want to know, I'll swear, returned the locksmith. I don't know that, said dolly, but I do at any rate. Do tell me, why is he so secret, and what is this ghost story, which nobody is to tell Miss Emma, and which seems to be mixed up with his going away. Now, I see you know, by your coloring so. What the story means, or is, or has to do with it, I know no more than you, my dear, returned the locksmith, accepted it some foolish fear of little solomons, which has indeed no meaning in it, I suppose, asked Mr. Hairdale's journey. He goes, as I believe, yes, said dolly, as I believe, resumed the locksmith pinching her cheek. I'm business, doll. What it may be is quite another matter. Read Bluebeard, and don't be too curious, pet. It's no business of yours or mine, depend upon that. And here's dinner, which is much more to the purpose. Dolly might have remonstrated against the summary dismissal of the subject, notwithstanding the appearance of dinner. But at the mention of Bluebeard, Mrs. Varden interposed, protesting she could not find it in her conscience to sit tamely by and hear her child recommended to peruse the adventures of a Turk and Musselman, far less of a fabulous Turk, which she considered that potentate to be. She held that in such stirring and tremendous times as those in which they lived, it would be much more to the purpose of dolly become a regular subscriber to the thunderer, where she would have an opportunity of reading Lord George Gordon's speech's word for word, which would be a greater comfort in solace to her than a hundred and fifty Bluebeards ever could impart. She appealed in support of this proposition to Miss Miggs, then in waiting, who said that indeed the peace of mind she had derived from the perusal of that paper generally, but especially of one article of the very last week as ever was, entitled, Great Britain Drenched in Gore, Exceeded All Belief. The same composition she added had also wrought such a comforting effect on the mind of a married sister of hers, then resident at Golden Lion Court, number twenty-seven, second bell-handle on the right-hand door-post, that being in a delicate state of health and, in fact, expecting in addition to her family, she had been seized with fits directly after its perusal and had raved the inquisition ever since, to the great improvement of her husband and friends. Miss Miggs went on to say that she would recommend all those whose hearts were hardened to hear Lord George themselves whom she commended first in respect of his steady Protestantism, then of his oratory, then of his eyes, then of his nose, then of his legs, and lastly of his figure generally, which she looked upon as fit for any statue, prince, or angel, to which sentiment Mrs. Varden fully subscribed. Mrs. Varden, having cut in, looked at a box upon the mantel shelf, painted in imitation of a very red brick dwelling-house with a yellow roof, having at top a real chimney down which voluntary subscribers dropped their silver, gold, or pence into the parlor, and on the door the counterfeit presentment of a brass plate whereon was legibly inscribed Protestant association, and looking at it said that it was to her a source of poignant misery to think that Varden never had of all his substance dropped anything into that temple, save once in secret, as she afterwards discovered, two fragments of tobacco pipe, which she hoped would not be put down to his last account. That dolly she was grieved to say was no less backward in her contributions, better loving as it seemed to purchase ribbons in such gods than to encourage the great cause than in such heavy tribulation, and that she did entreat her, her father, she much feared, could not be moved, not to despise, but imitate the bright example of Miss Migs, who flung her wages as it were into the very countenance of the Pope, and bruised his features with her quarters' money. Oh, Mim! said Migs, don't relude to that. I had no intentions, Mim, that nobody should know. Such sacrifices as I can make are quite a witter's might. It's all I have, cried Migs, with a great burst of tears, for with her they never came on by degrees. But it's made up to me in other ways. It's well made up. This was quite true, though not perhaps in the sense that Migs intended. As she never failed to keep herself denial full in Mrs. Varden's view, it do forth so many gifts of caps and gowns and other articles of dress, that upon the whole the Redbrick House was perhaps the best investment for her small capital she could possibly have hit upon. Returning her interest at the rate of seven or eight percent in money, and fifty at least in personal repute and credit. You needn't cry, Migs, said Mrs. Varden, herself in tears. You needn't be ashamed of it, though your poor mistress is on the same side. Migs howled at this remark in a peculiarly dismal way, and said she knowed that Master hated her, that it was a dreadful thing to live in families and have dislikes and not give satisfactions. That to make divisions was a thing she could not a bear to think of, neither could her feelings let her do it. That if it was Master's wishes as she and him should part, it was best they should part, and she hoped he might be the happier for it and always wished him well, and then he might find somebody else would meet his dispositions. It would be a hard trial, she said, apart from such a Mrs., but she could meet any suffering when her conscience told her she was in the rites, and therefore she was willing even to go that length. She did not think, she added, that she could long survive the separations, but as she was hated and looked upon unpleasant, perhaps her dying, as soon as possible, would be the best endings for all parties. With this affecting conclusion, Miss Migs shed more tears and sobbed abundantly. Can you bear this, Varden? said his wife in a solemn voice, laying down her knife and fork. Why, not very well, my dear, rejoined the locksmith, but I try to keep my temper. Don't let there be words on my account, Mim, sobbed Migs. It's much the best that we should part. I wouldn't stay, oh, gracious me, and make dissensions not for an annual gold mine and found in tea and sugar. Lest the reader should be at any loss to discover the cause of Miss Migs' deep emotion, it may be whispered apart that happening to be listening, as her custom sometimes was, when Gabriel and his wife conversed together, she had heard the locksmith's joke relative to the foreign black who played the tambourine, and bursting with the spiteful feelings which the taunt awoke in her fair breast exploded in the manner we have witnessed. Matters having now arrived at a crisis, the locksmith as usual, and for the sake of peace and quietness gave in. What are you crying for, girl? he said. What's the matter with you? What are you talking about hatred for? I don't hate you. I don't hate anybody. Dry your eyes and make yourself agreeable in heaven's name and let us all be happy while we can. The allied power is deeming at good generalship to consider this a sufficient apology on the part of the enemy, and confession of having been in the wrong did dry their eyes and take it in good part. Miss Migs observed that she bore no malice, no, not to her greatest foe whom she rather loved the more indeed the greater persecution she sustained. Mrs. Varden approved this meek and forgiving spirit in high terms, and incidentally declared as a closing article of agreement that Dolly should accompany her to the clerk-and-well branch of the association that very night. This was an extraordinary instance of her great prudence and policy, having had this end in view from the first, and entertaining a secret misgiving that the locksmith, who was bold when Dolly was in question, would object. She had backed Miss Migs up to this point in order that she might have him at a disadvantage. The maneuvers succeeded so well that Gabriel only made a wry face, and with the warning he had just had fresh in his mind did not dare to say one word. The difference ended, therefore, in Migs being presented with a gown by Mrs. Varden and half a crown by Dolly as if she had eminently distinguished herself in the paths of morality and goodness. Mrs. V, according to Custom, expressed her hope that Varden would take a lesson from what had passed and learn more generous conduct for the time to come. And the dinner being now cold and nobody's appetite very much improved by what had passed, they went on with it, as Mrs. Varden said, like Christians. As there was to be a grand parade of the royal East London volunteers that afternoon, the locksmith did no more work but sat down comfortably with his pipe in his mouth and his arm round his pretty daughter's waist, looking lovingly on Mrs. V from time to time, and exhibiting from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet one smiling surface of good humor. And, to be sure, when it was time to dress him in his regimentals and Dolly hanging about him in all kinds of graceful winning ways, helped to button and buckle and brush him up and get him into one of the tightest coats that ever was made by mortal Taylor, he was the proudest father in all England. What a handy jaded is, said the locksmith to Mrs. Varden, who stood by with folded hands, rather proud of her husband, too, while Migs held his cap and sword at arms length, as if mistrusting that the latter might run someone through the body of its own accord. But never marry a soldier, Dolly, my dear. Dolly didn't ask why not or say a word indeed, but snooped her head down very low to tie his sash. I never wear this dress, said honest Gabriel, but I think of poor Joe Willett. I love Joe. He was always a favorite of mine. Poor Joe. Dear heart, my girl, don't tie me in so tight. Dolly laughed, not like herself at all, the strangest little laugh that could be, and held her head down lower still. Poor Joe resumed the locksmith muttering to himself. I always wish he had come to me. I might have made it up between them if he had. Ah, old John made a great mistake in his way of acting by that lad, a great mistake. Have you nearly tied that sash, my dear? What an ill-made sash it was. There it was, loose again and trailing on the ground. Dolly was obliged to kneel down and recommend at the beginning. Never mind young Willett, Varden, said his wife frowning. You might find someone more deserving to talk about, I think. Miss Miggs gave a great sniff to the same effect. Nay, Martha, cried the locksmith, don't let us bear too hard upon him. If the lad is dead indeed, we'll deal kindly by his memory. We'll run away and a vagabond, said Mrs. Varden. Miss Miggs expressed her concurrence as before. A runaway, my dear, but not a vagabond, returned the locksmith in a gentle tone. He behaved himself well, did Joe always, and was a handsome manly fellow. Don't call him a vagabond, Martha. Mrs. Varden coughed, and so did Miggs. He tried hard to gain your good opinion, Martha, I can tell you, said the locksmith, smiling and stroking his chin. Ah, that he did. It seems but yesterday that he followed me out to the Maypole door one night, and begged me not to say how like a boy they used him. Say here at home, he meant, though at the time I recollect I didn't understand. And how's Miss Dolly, sir, says Joe, pursued the locksmith, musing sorrowfully. Ah, poor Joe. Well, I declare, cried Miggs, oh, goodness gracious me. What's the matter now, said Gabriel, turning sharply to her. Why, if here ain't Miss Dolly, said the handmaid, stooping down to look into her face, a giving way to floods of tears. Oh, ma'am, oh, sir, rally, it's given me such a turn, cried the susceptible damsel, pressing her hand upon her side to quell the palpitation of her heart, that you might knock me down with a feather. The locksmith, after glancing at Miss Miggs, as if he could have wished to have a feather brought straight away, looked down with a broad stare while Dolly hurried away, followed by that sympathizing young woman. Then, turning to his wife, stammered out, is Dolly ill? Have I done anything? Is it my fault? Your fault, cried Mrs. B. reproachfully. There, you had better make haste out. What have I done, said poor Gabriel. It was agreed that Mr. Edward's name was never to be mentioned, and I have not spoken of him, have I? Mrs. Varden merely replied that she had no patience with him and bounced off after the other two. The unfortunate locksmith wound his sash about him, girded on his sword, put on his cap, and walked out. I am not much of a dab at my exercise, he said under his breath, but I shall get into fewer scrapes at that work than at this. Every man came into the world for something. My department seems to be to make every woman cry without meaning it. It's rather hard. But he forgot it before he reached the end of the street, and went on with a shining face nodding to the neighbors and showering about his friendly greetings like mild spring rain. End of Chapter 41 Recording by Deborah Lynn Chapter 42 of Barnaby Rudge This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens, Chapter 42 The Royal East London volunteers made a brilliant site that day, formed into lines, squares, circles, triangles, and whatnot to the beating of drums and the streaming of flags, and performed a vast number of complex evolutions, in all of which Sergeant Varden bore a conspicuous share. Having displayed their military prowess to the utmost in these warlike shows, they marched in glittering order to the Chelsea Bun House and regaled in the adjacent taverns until dark. Then, at sound of drum, they fell in again and returned amidst the shouting of His Majesty's legions to the place from whence they came. The homeward march being somewhat tardy, owing to the unsold-your-like behavior of certain corporals, who being gentlemen of sedentary pursuits in private life and excitable out of doors, broke several windows with their bayonets, and rendered it imperative on the commanding officer to deliver them over to a strong guard, with whom they fought at intervals as they came along. It was nine o'clock when the locksmith reached home. A hackney coach was waiting near his door, and as he passed it, Mr. Herodale looked from the window and called him by his name. The sight of you is good for sore eyes, sir, said the locksmith, stepping up to him. I wish you had walked in, though, rather than waited here. There is nobody at home, I find, Mr. Herodale answered. Besides, I desired to be as private as I could. Hump, muttered the locksmith, looking round at his house. Gone was Simon, tapered to that precious branch, no doubt. Mr. Herodale invited him to come into the coach, and, if he were not tired or anxious to go home, to ride with him a little way that they might have some talk together. Gabriel cheerfully complied, and the coachman, Mountie's box, drove off. Varden, said Mr. Herodale after a minute's pause, you will be amazed to hear what errand I am on. It will seem a very strange one. I have no doubt it's a reasonable one, sir, and has a meaning in it, replied the locksmith, or it would not be yours at all. Have you just come back to town, sir? But half an hour ago. Bringing no news of Barnaby or his mother, said the locksmith, dubiously. Ah, you needn't shake your head, sir, it was a wild goosechase. I feared that from the first. You exhausted all reasonable means of discovery when they went away. To begin again after so long a time has passed is hopeless, sir, quite hopeless. Well, where are they, he returned impatiently. Where can they be, above ground? God knows rejoined the locksmith. Many that I knew above it five years ago have their beds under the grass now, and the world is a wide place. It's a hopeless attempt, sir, believe me. We must leave the discovery of this mystery, like all others, to time and accident and heaven's pleasure. Varden, my good fellow, said Mr. Herodale. I have a deeper meaning in my present anxiety to find them out than you can fathom. It is not a mere whim. It is not the casual revival of my old wishes and desires, but an earnest solemn purpose. My thoughts and dreams all tend to it and fix it in my mind. I have no rest by day or night. I have no peace or quiet. I am haunted. His voice was so altered from its usual tones, and his manner bespoke so much emotion that Gabriel, in his wonder, could only sit and look towards him in the darkness and fancy the expression of his face. Do not ask me, continued Mr. Herodale, to explain myself. If I were to do so, you would think me the victim of some hideous fancy. It is enough that this is so, and that I cannot, no, I cannot, lie quietly in my bed without doing what will seem to you incomprehensible. Since when, sir, said the locksmith after a pause, has this uneasy feeling been upon you? Mr. Herodale hesitated for some moments and then replied, Since the night of the storm, in short, since the last 19th of March. As though he feared that Varden might express surprise or reason with him, he hastily went on. You will think I know I labor under some delusion. Perhaps I do, but it is not a morbid one. It is a wholesome action of the mind reasoning on actual occurrences. You know the furniture remains in Mrs. Rudge's house, and that it has been shut up by my orders since you went away, save once a week or so when an old neighbor visits it to scare away the rats. I am on my way there now. For what purpose? asked the locksmith. To pass the night there, he replied. And not to night alone, but many nights. This is a secret which I trust to you in case of any unexpected emergency. You will not come unless in case of strong necessity to me. From dusk to broad day I shall be there. Emma, your daughter, and the rest, suppose me out of London, as I have been until within this hour. Do not un-deceive them. This is the errand I am bound upon. I know I may confide it to you, and I rely upon your questioning me no more at this time. With that, as if to change the theme, he led the astounded locksmith back to the night of the Maypole Highwoman, to the robbery of Edward Chester, to the reappearance of the man at Mrs. Rudge's house, and to all the strange circumstances which afterwards occurred. He even asked him carelessly about the man's height, his face, his figure, whether he was like anyone he had ever seen, like Hugh, for instance, or any man he had known at any time, and put many questions of that sort, which the locksmith, considering them as mere devices to engage his attention and prevent his expressing the astonishment he felt, answered pretty much at random. At length they arrived at the corner of the street in which the house stood, where Mr. Haerdale, a lighting, dismissed the coach. If you desire to see me safely lodged, he said, turning to the locksmith with a gloomy smile, you can. Gabriel, to whom all former marvels had been nothing in comparison with this, followed him along the narrow pavement in silence. When they reached the door, Mr. Haerdale softly opened it with a key he had about him, and closing it, when Varden answered, they were left in thorough darkness. They groped their way into the ground floor room. Here Mr. Haerdale struck a light and kindled a pocket-taper he had brought with him for the purpose. It was then, when the flame was full upon him, that the locksmith saw for the first time how haggard, pale, and changed he looked, how worn and thin he was, how perfectly his whole appearance coincided with all that he had said so strangely as they rode along. It was not an unnatural impulse in Gabriel, after what he had heard, to note curiously the expression of his eyes. It was perfectly collected and rational. So much so indeed that he felt ashamed of his momentary suspicion, and drooped his own when Mr. Haerdale looked towards him as if he feared they would betray his thoughts. Will you walk through the house, said Mr. Haerdale, with a glance towards the window, the crazy shutters of which were closed and fastened? Speak low. There was a kind of awe about the place which would have rendered it difficult to speak in any other manner. Gabriel whispered yes, and followed him upstairs. Everything was just as they had seen at last. There was a sense of closeness from the exclusion of fresh air, and a gloom and heaviness around as the long imprisonment had made the very silence sad. The homely hanging is of the beds and windows had begun to droop. The dust lay thick upon their dwindling folds, and damps had made their way through ceiling wall and floor. The boards creaked beneath their tread as if resenting the unaccustomed intrusion. Nimble spiders, paralyzed by the taper's glare, checked the motion of their hundred legs upon the wall or dropped like lifeless things upon the ground. The death-watch ticked, and the scampering feet of rats and mice rattled behind the wainscot. As they looked about them on the decaying furniture, it was strange to find how vividly it presented those to whom it had belonged and with whom it was once familiar. Grip seemed to perch again upon his high-backed chair, Barnaby to crouch in his old favorite corner by the fire, the mother to resume her usual seat and watch him as of old. Even when they could separate these objects from the phantoms of the mind which they invoked, the latter only glided out of sight but lingered near them still. For then they seemed to lurk in closets and behind the doors, ready to start out and suddenly accost them in well-remembered tones. They went downstairs and again into the room they had just now left. Mr. Herodale unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table with a pair of pocket pistols, then told the locksmith he would light him to the door. But this is a dull place, sir, said Gabriel, lingering. May no one share your watch? He shook his head and so plainly evinced his wish to be alone that Gabriel could say no more. In another moment the locksmith was standing in the street whence he could see that the light once more traveled upstairs and soon returning to the room below shone brightly through the chinks of the shutters. If ever man were sorely puzzled and perplexed the locksmith was that night, even when snugly seated by his own fireside with Mrs. Varden opposite in a night cap and night jacket, and Dolly beside him in a most distracting dishevel, curling her hair and smiling as if she had never cried in all her life and never could. Even then, with Toby at his elbow and his pipe in his mouth and migs, but that perhaps was not much, falling asleep in the background, he could not quite discard his wonder and uneasiness. So, in his dreams, still there was Mr. Herodale, haggard and care-worn, listening in the solitary house to every sound that stirred, with the taper shining through the chinks until the day should turn at pale and end his lonely watching.