General Bounce Part 13

"THE FADED FLOWER.

"I spied a sweet Moss-rose my garden adorning, With a blush at her core like the pink of a sh.e.l.l, And I wrung from her petals the dewdrop of morning, And gathered her gently and tended her well.

For the bee and the b.u.t.terfly round her were humming, To whisper their flattering love-tale, and fly; And too surely I knew that the season was coming, When the flower must fade and the insect must die.

So deep in the shade of my chamber I brought her, And sheltered her safe from the wind and the sun, And cared for her kindly and dipped her in water, And vowed to preserve her when summer was done.

Though dark was my dwelling, this darling of Flora, Like a spirit of beauty, enlivened the gloom; Yet more than I loved her I seemed to adore her, Less fond of her fragrance than proud of her bloom.

But long ere the brightness of summer was shaded, My Moss-rose was drooping and withering away; Her perfume had perished, her freshness had faded-- The very condition of life is decay.

And now more than ever I cherish and prize her, For love shall not falter though beauty depart; And far dearer to me, because others despise her, That Moss-rose, all withered, lies next to my heart."

"Rubbish," growled Frank; "that any man in his senses should write such infernal nonsense, and then have the face to put his name to it!

_His_ moss-rose, indeed! and this is what women like. These are the c.o.xcombs they prefer to a plain, sensible, true-hearted gentleman--put wisdom, talent, courage, faith, and truth in one scale, and weigh them against a soft voice, a large pair of whiskers, and varnished boots in the other--why, the boots have it twenty to one! and it is for this thoughtless, ungrateful, unfeeling, volatile, ill-judging s.e.x that we are all prepared to go through fire and water, sacrifice friends, country, fame, position, honour itself! Blanche! Blanche is as bad as the rest, but _I_ at least will no longer be such a fool. I have no idea of becoming a _pis-aller_--a subst.i.tute--a stop-gap--if this hair-brained peer should change his mind, and that warlike _roue_ find some one he likes better than Miss Kettering. O Blanche! Blanche! that I had never known you, or having known you, could rate you at your real value, and give you up without a struggle!"

"How do you do, Miss Kettering? What a beautiful day!" Only the last sentence of the foregoing, be it observed, was spoken aloud; Frank had just schooled himself to the point of separation for ever, when the door opened and Blanche entered, looking so exactly as she used, with the same graceful gestures, and the same kind smile, that her empire was, for the moment, completely re-established; and although she, too, had meant to be very reserved and very distant, she could not forbear greeting her old admirer with all the cordiality of bygone days. These young people loved one another very much; each would have given the world to pour forth hopes, and fears, and misgivings, and vows, and reproaches, and pardons, into the other's ear, but the lip _will_ tremble when the heart is full, and they got no further than "How do you do?" and "What a beautiful day!" Blanche was the first to regain her composure, as is generally the case with a lady, perhaps from her being more habituated to losing it--perhaps from her whole training being one of readier hypocrisy than that of man. Be this how it may, the deeper water, when stirred, is longer in smoothing its ruffled surface; and whilst the lover's lip shook, and his heart beat, the girl's voice was steady and tranquil, though she dared not trust herself, save with the commonplace topics and every-day conversation of society. They tried Chiswick--the new singer--the Drawing-room--Lady Ormolu's ball--the opera--and the Park; this last was tender ground, and Blanche coloured to the temples when Frank hesitated and stammered out (so different from his usual manly, open address) that he "_thought_ he had seen her yesterday, and her horse was looking remarkably well. By the by, was she not riding with----"

"Major D'Orville," announced the polite footman, with the utmost stateliness; and our handsome hussar made his appearance, and paid his respects to Miss Kettering in his usual self-possessed and dignified manner, contrasting favourably with poor Frank's obvious embarra.s.sment and annoyance, now heightened by the intrusion of so unwelcome a visitor at such an unlucky moment. A few seconds more might have produced an explanation, a reconciliation--possibly a scene--but that cursed door-knocker could not be still, even for so short a s.p.a.ce; and Mr. Hardingstone was once more at a dead-lock.

And now began another game at cross purposes, which, though not uncommon amongst ladies and gentlemen who are of opinion that "two form pleasanter company than three," is, nevertheless, a dull and dreary recreation when persisted in for any length of time. It is termed "sitting each other out," and was now performed by Frank Hardingstone and the Major in its highest perfection. But here again the man of war had an advantage over the civilian. Besides the occupation afforded him by his moustaches, of which ornaments even D'Orville acknowledged the value in a case like the present, he was thoroughly at his ease, and consequently good-humoured, lively, and agreeable; whereas Frank was restless, preoccupied, almost morose. He had never before appeared to such disadvantage in Blanche's eyes. But if he hoped to obtain her ear by dint of patient a.s.siduity, and an obvious intention to remain where he was till dinner-time, he must have been grievously disappointed, for again a thundering knock shook the house to its foundations, and "Lord Mount Helicon" was announced by the polite footman, with an extra flourish on account of the t.i.tle.

His lordship greeted Blanche with the greatest _empress.e.m.e.nt_, nodded to the gentlemen with the most hearty cordiality, as though rivalry was a word unknown in his vocabulary, and settled himself in an arm-chair by the lady's side with a good-natured a.s.surance peculiarly his own.

"Do you ride to-day, Miss Kettering?" said he, with the most matter-of-course air. "I promised the General to show him my famous pony, so I have ordered 'Trictrac' (that's his name) to be here at five--perhaps you'll allow me to accompany you."

Frank looked intensely disgusted: he had brought no hacks to town, and if he had, would never have proposed to ride with his lady-love in such an off-hand way. Even the Major opened his eyes wider than usual, and gave an extra twirl to his moustaches; but "Mount" rattled on, nothing daunted: "We shall have Lacquers here directly. I met him as I drove up Bond Street, coming out of Storr and Mortimer's, and I taxed him on the spot with the accusation that he was going to be married.

He couldn't stand the test, Miss Kettering! he blushed--actually blushed--and tried to get rid of me by an a.s.surance that he was very busy, and that we should meet again in the Park. But I know better; he's coming here, I can take my oath of it. His hair is curled in five rows, and he never wears more than four, save for particular occasions. He is very fidgety about his 'chevelure,' '_his_ chevalier,' he calls it; and went the other night to hear 'The Barbiere,' as he himself acknowledged, 'to get a wrinkle, you know, about dressing and shaving and all that.'"

Blanche laughed in spite of herself; and Frank, seizing his hat in ill-concealed vexation, bade her a hurried farewell, and rushed out of the house, just as the redoubtable Lacquers made his appearance, "got up," as Lord Mount Helicon had observed, with the greatest magnificence, and fully resolved in his own mind to push the siege briskly with the heiress, and at least to lose no ground in her good graces for want of attention to the duties, or rather, we should say, the pleasures of the toilette.

Poor Frank was very wretched as he stalked down the sunshiny street, and almost vowed he would never enter _that_ house again. He felt a void at his heart that quite startled him. He had no idea he was so far gone. For a time he believed himself really and utterly miserable; nor did the reflection that such a feeling was a bitter satire on his boasted strength of mind--on that intellectual training of which he was so proud--serve to administer much consolation. Like the ruined gamester, who

"d.a.m.ned the poor link-boy that called him a duke,"

Frank felt inclined to quarrel with the world in general, and b.u.t.toned his coat with savage energy when the poor crossing-sweeper held out her toil-worn hand for a penny. He relented too, and gave her money, and felt ashamed that he should have thought for an instant of visiting his own afflictions on that hard-working creature, the more so as a sailor-looking man in front of him had evidently given a trifle to the poor industrious woman.

Frank thought he recognised those broad shoulders, that large, loose frame and rolling gait; in another moment he was alongside Hairblower, and clasping the delighted seaman's hand with a warmth and cordiality by no means less vigorously returned.

"The last person as I ever expected to come across hereaway," said Hairblower, his broad, honest face wrinkling with pleasure. "I little thought when I came cruising about this here place as I should fall in with friends at every corner; and pretty friends they've showed theirselves, some on 'em."

As the seaman spoke these last words in bitter and desponding tones, Frank remarked that he looked pale and haggard; and though his clear eye and good-humoured smile were the same as ever, he had lost the well-to-do air and jovial manner which used to distinguish him at St.

Swithin's. Frank asked if there was anything wrong: "You know I'm an old friend, Hairblower; I can see something has happened--can I a.s.sist you? At any rate, tell me what is the matter."

The tears stood in Hairblower's eyes, and again he wrung Frank's hand with a grasp like a vice, and his voice came hoa.r.s.e and thick as he replied, "G.o.d bless you, Mr. Hardingstone, you're a real gentleman, _you_ are, and though I'm a plain man and poor--_poor_, I haven't five shillings left in the world--you think it no shame to be seen walking and talking with the likes of me in the broad daylight, and that's what I call _manly_, sir: no more didn't Master Charlie--poor lad!

he's far enough now; many's the time he's said to me, 'Hairblower,'

says he--but that's neither here nor there. Well, Mr. Hardingstone, things has gone cross with me now for a goodish bit: the fishin' 's not what it used to be, nor the place neither. Bless ye, I've seen the day when I could take and put my ten-pound note on the old table at home, ay, and another to the back of that! but times is altered now, betterer for some, worserer for others. I've had my share, mayhap, but I've been drifting to leeward a long while back, and I've had a deal of way to fetch up. Well, sir, I'm pretty stiff and strong yet, and the Lord's above all, so I thought I might just get things together a bit, and streak up here to London town, and so look out for a berth in some of these here ships a-going foreign. I've neither chick nor child to care for me at home, and I reckoned as a voyage wouldn't hurt me no worse now than five-and-twenty years ago. Well, sir, to make a long story short, I got a bit o' money together, as much as would buy me an outfit and chest, and such like, for I meant to ship as second mate at the worst, and I always liked to be respectable; and when I'd got that I'd got _all_, but I didn't owe no man a farthing, and so would be ready to clear out with a clean breast. Lord, sir, what a place this here town is for sights: go where I would there was something to be seen. To be sure I hadn't many shillings to throw away, and I just looked straight afore me, and I never so much as winked at the mammon horse, nor the stuffed sea-serpent, nor the biggest man in Europe, nor the fattest woman, nor the world turned upside down, nor none on 'em, till I was brought up all standing by a board, where they offered to show me some True-blue Kaffirs, all alive and as dark as natur'. Well, sir, I knew a very respectable Kaffir family once, on the coast of Africa, where we used to land a boat's crew, at odd times, for fresh water and such like; and, thinks I, I'll just go and have a peep at the True-blues, and see if they remind me of my old friends. There they was, Mr. Hardingstone, sure enough. Old True-blue was a stampin', and yellin', and hissin', and makin' of such a disturbance as he never got leave to do at home, and his wives, five or six on 'em, was yowlin', and cryin', and kickin' up the devil's delight, as _I_ never see them when they was living decently in the bush. Well, sir, when the True-blues held on for a while to have their beer, the company was invited to go and inspect 'em closer, and pat 'em, and feel 'em, and I made no doubt they was Ingines myself, when I got the wind of 'em; but just as I was castin' about to see if I could fish up an odd word or two of their language, only to be civil, you know, to strangers, True-blue's wife--she comes up and lays hold of me by the whiskers, and grins, and smiles, and points, and pulls at 'em like grim Death; and old True-blue himself--he comes up and has a haul, too, and grins, and chatters, and looks desperation fierce, and so they holds me amongst 'em. You see, Mr. Hardingstone, they're not used to beards, 'cos it's not their natur', nor whiskers neither. Well, I looked uncommon foolish, and the company all began to laugh; and I heard a voice behind me say, 'Why, it's Hairblower!' and I turns round, and who should I see but an old friend of mine, by name Blacke, as was a lawyer's clerk at St. Swithin's: _friend_, is he?" and Hairblower ground his teeth, and doubled a most formidable-looking fist, as he added, "if ever I catch him I'll give him his allowance; _friend_, indeed! I'll teach him who his friends are."

For a while the seaman's indignation was too strong for him, and he walked on several paces without saying a word, forgetful apparently of his companion and his situation, and all but his anger at the unworthy treatment to which he had been subjected. As he cooled down, however, he resumed: "Well, Mr. Hardingstone, in course we went out together, and we turned into a Tom-and-Jerry shop to have some beer, and spin a bit of a yarn about old times; and I asked him about his missus, and he remembered all the ins-and-outs of the old place, and I liked to talk to him all about it, 'specially as I shouldn't see it again for a goodish while; and we had some grog and pipes, and was quite comfortable. After a time, a chap came in--a big chap, in a white jacket and ankle-boots--and he took no notice of us, but began braggin' and chaffin' about his strength, and his liftin' weights and playin' skittles and such like; and Blacke whispers to me, 'Hairblower,' says he, 'you're a strong chap; put this noisy fellow down a bit, and perhaps he'll keep quiet.' Well, he kept eggin' of me on, and at last I makes a match, stupid like, to lift a heavier weight than the noisy one. So the landlord, he brings in half-a-dozen fifty-sixes, and I beats him all to rubbish. So he was somethin' mad at that, and offered to play me at skittles for five pounds, or ten pounds, or twenty pounds; and I said it was foolish to risk so much money for amus.e.m.e.nt, but I'd play him for a sovereign, 'cos, ye see, my blood was up, and I wasn't a-goin' to knock under to such a land-lubber as this here. 'Sovereign!' says he, 'I don't believe as you've got a sovereign,' and he pulls out a handful of notes and silver, and such like; and, says he, 'Afore I stake,' says he, 'let me see my money covered; it's my belief that this here's a plant.' 'You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' says Blacke, the first time he spoke to him; '_my_ friend's a gen'l'man, and can show _the ready_ against all you've got--coin for coin, and shillin' for shillin'.' With that I pulls out my purse and counts my money down on the table--eleven golden sovereigns and a five-pound note. So we gets to skittles quite contented, and I puts my purse back in my jacket pocket, and gives it to Blacke to hold. Well, sir, I polished him off at skittles, too, and he paid his wager up like a man, and treated us all round, and behaved quite sociable-like; so we got drinkin' again--him and me and Blacke--at the same table. After a time my head began to get bad--I never felt it so afore--and the mixture I was drinkin' of--gin it was and beer--seemed to taste queerish, somehow, but I thought nothing of it, and drank on, thinking as the stuff would soon settle itself; but it didn't though; for in a little while the room and the tables and the chairs seemed to be heavin' and turnin' and pitchin', and I felt all manner of ways myself, and broke out into a cold sweat, and says I, 'I think I'll go out into the fresh air a bit, for I'm taken bad,'

says I, 'someway; but don't ye disturb yourselves, I'll soon be back again.' So Blacke he helped me out, and directly I got into the yard where the skittles was, I see the place all green-like, and after that I remember no more till I found myself on the landlord's bed up-stairs; and by that time it was ten o'clock at night, so I up and asked what was become of my friend; and the landlord he told me both the gentlemen was gone, and that they had said I didn't ought to be disturbed, and that I was _often so_; and they was goin' away without payin' the score, but the landlord was a deep cove, and he wouldn't let them off without settling, so they paid it all, and so walked away. Well, I got my jacket and walked away too; and all in a moment I thought I'd _heard_ of such things, and I'd feel in my pocket to see if my purse was safe. There was _the purse_ sure enough, but the _money_ was gone, every groat of it--there wasn't a rap left to jingle for luck, Mr. Hardingstone. Well, sir, it all came across me at once--I'd been hocussed, no doubt--they drugged my lush, the thieves, and then they robbed me--and my old friend Tom Blacke, as I've known from a boy, was at the bottom of it. The landlord, he thought so too; but he was in a terrible takin' himself for the character of his house, and he gave me half-a-crown, and begged I'd say nothin' about it; and that half-crown, all but sixpence I gave just now to a poor creatur' that wanted it more nor me, is the whole of my fortun', Mr.

Hardingstone. But it's not the money I care for--thank G.o.d, I can work and get more--it's the meanness of a man I once thought well of.

That's where it is, sir, and I can't bear it. Blacke by name, and black by natur'--he must be a rank bad 'un; and I'm ashamed of him, that I am!"

Hairblower got better after making a clean breast of it. He had no friends in London--none to confide in, none to advise him; and his chance meeting with Frank Hardingstone "did him a sight of good," as he said himself, and "made a man of him again." Nor was the rencontre less beneficial to Frank. When a man is suffering from that imaginary malady (none the less painful for being imaginary) which originates in the frown of a pretty girl, there is nothing so likely to do him good as a stirring piece of real business, to which he must devote all his energies of body and mind. Byron recommends a sea-voyage, with its accompanying sea-sickness; the latter he esteems a more perfect cure than "purgatives," or "the application of hot towels." Not but that these unromantic remedies may be extremely effective; but, failing such counter-irritants, we question whether a visit to Scotland-yard, and an interview with those courteous and matter-of-fact gentlemen who preside over our well-organised metropolitan police force, be not as good a method of cauterising the wound as any other, more particularly when such a visit is undertaken for the express purpose of seeing a friend through an awkward sc.r.a.pe. Frank soon had Hairblower into a cab, and off on his way to the head-quarters of that detective justice which is anything but blind; where the seaman, having again told his unvarnished tale, and been a.s.sured that his grievances should meet with the promptest attention, was dismissed, not a little comforted, though at the same time most completely puzzled. Frank's a.s.sistance to his humble friend, however, did not stop here. He _liked_ Hairblower, partly, it must be confessed, because the seaman was so strong and plucky, and possessed such physical advantages as no man despises, though he who shares them himself often rates them higher than the rest of the world. Frank enjoyed a.s.sociating with men of all sorts, but more especially he relished the society of such daring spirits as are accustomed to look death in the face day by day, in the earning of their very subsistence, and to trust their own cool heads and strong hands amidst all the turmoil of the deep, "blow high, blow low." Many a wild night had he been out in the Channel with his sailor friend, when an inch or two more canvas, or a moment's neglect of the helm, would have made the reckless couple food for those fishes after which they laboured so a.s.siduously; and our two friends, for so we must call them, notwithstanding their difference of station, had learned to depend on each other, and to admire reciprocally the frame that labour could not subdue, the nerves that danger could not daunt. So now the gentleman talked the sailor's affairs over with him as if he had been a brother. He gave him the best advice in his power; he recommended him to go back to St. Swithin's to prosecute the fishing trade once more, and with the same delicacy which he would have thought due to one of his own rank, he offered to _lend_ him such a sum of money as would enable him to begin the world again, and expressly stipulated that he should be repaid by instalments varying with the price of mackerel and the success of the fishing.

"If once you get your head above water, I know you can swim like a duck," said Frank, grasping the honest fellow's hand, "so say no more about it. We'll have rare times in the yawl before the summer's quite done with; and till then, G.o.d bless you, old friend, and good luck to you!"

As Hairblower himself expressed it, "you might have knocked him down with a feather."

How different the world looked to Frank when he parted with his old companion from what it had seemed some few hours before, as he left the great house in Grosvenor Square. There is an infallible recipe for lowness of spirits, nervousness, causeless misery, and mental irritation, which beats all Dr. Willis's restorative nostrums, and emanc.i.p.ates the sufferer more rapidly than even the famous "Ha! ha!

Cured in an instant!" remedy. When oppressed with _ennui_, the poet says--

"Throw but a stone, the giant dies!"

and so, when the bright sky above seems leaden to your eyes--when the song of birds, the prattle of children, or the gush of waters, fall dully upon your ear--when the outward world is all vanity of vanities and existence seems a burden, and, as Thackeray says, "Life is a mistake"--go and do a kindly action, no matter how or where or to whom; but, at any sacrifice, at any inconvenience, go and do it--and take an old man's word for it, you will not repent. Straightway the fairy comes down the kitchen chimney, and touches your whole being with her wand. Straightway the sun bursts out with a brilliant smile, the birds take up a joyous carol, the children's voices are like the morning hymn of a seraph choir, and the babbling of the stream woos your entranced ear with the silver notes of Nature's own melody. Those are now steeds from Araby which seemed but rats and mice an hour or two ago. That is a glittering equipage which you had scouted as a huge, unsightly pumpkin. You yourself, no longer crouching in dust and ashes, start upright, with your face to heaven, attired in the only robe that preserves eternal freshness, the only garment you shall take away with you when you have done with all the rest--the web of charity, that cloak which covers a mult.i.tude of sins. You have, besides, this advantage over Cinderella--that whereas her gla.s.s slippers and corresponding splendour must be laid aside before midnight, your enchantment shall outlast the morrow; your fairy's wand can reach from earth to heaven; your kindly action is entered in a book from which there is no erasure, whereof the pages shall be read before men and angels, and shall endure from everlasting to everlasting.

CHAPTER XVI

FORGERY

OUR HUMBLE ACQUAINTANCES--THE SCRATCH OF A PEN--A SCOUT'S INFORMATION--THE MAJOR'S MEDITATIONS, NOT FANCY-FREE

In the meantime, whilst the higher characters of our drama are fluttering their gaudy hour in the bright sunshine of fashionable life, whilst the General and Blanche and Mary, and Mount Helicon and D'Orville and Lacquers, and all of that cla.s.s are driving and dining, and dressing and flirting, and otherwise improving their time, grim Want is eating into the very existence of some amongst our humbler friends, and Vice, too often the handmaid of Penury, is shedding her poison even on the scanty morsel they wrest from the very jaws of danger and detection.

Tom Blacke, as we have already seen, has overleapt the narrow boundary which separates dissipation from crime; and poor Gingham knows too well that opportunity alone is wanting to confer on him a notoriety infamous as that which is boasted of by his more daring a.s.sociates. He is out now at all hours, chiefly, however, during the night, and obtains supplies of money for which she cannot account, and about which she has been taught it is better not to question him. He drinks, too, with more circ.u.mspection than was his wont, and has dreadful fits of despondency, during which he trembles like a child, and from which nothing seems to arouse him save the prattle of his infant. He is very diligent, too, in making inquiries as to the sailing of divers ships for the United States; and, being a sharp fellow, has acquainted himself thoroughly with the geography of that country, and the amount of capital requisite to enable a man to set up for himself under the star-spangled banner. He has already hinted to his wife that if he could but get hold of a little money he should certainly emigrate; and by dint of talking the matter over, Gingham, although she has a dreadful horror of the sea, contracted at St. Swithin's, is not entirely unfavourable to the plan. Poor woman! she has not much to regret in leaving England. Let us take a peep at their establishment in the Mews, as they sit by the light of a solitary tallow candle, the mother st.i.tching as usual, though her eyes often fill with tears, whilst ever and anon she glances cautiously towards the cradle, to see if the child is asleep, and listening to its heavy, regular breathing, applies herself to the needle more diligently than before. This is the hour at which Tom usually goes out; but to-night he shows no signs of departure, sitting moodily with his chair resting against the wall, and his eyes fixed on vacancy. At length he rouses himself with an effort, and bids Rachel make him some tea.

"I'm glad you're not going out to-night, Tom," says his wife; "I feel poorly, somehow, and its lonesome when you're away for long."

"I'd never go out o' nights, la.s.s," replies Tom--"never, if I wasn't drove to it. But what's a man to do?--this isn't a country for a poor man to live in--there's no liberty here. Ah, Rachel, you're made for something better than this; st.i.tching away day after day, and not a gown or a bonnet fit to put on. You're losing your looks too--you that used to be so genteel every way." Mrs. Blacke smiles through her tears; he has not spoken to her so kindly for many a long day.

"There's a country we might go to," he adds, looking sideways at her, to watch the effect of his arguments, "where a man as is a man, and knows his right hand from his left, needn't want a good house to cover him, nor good clothes to his back. We'd be there in six weeks at the farthest--what's that?--why, it's nothing; and the child all the better for the sea air. There's a ship to start next Thursday, first cla.s.s, and all regular. In two months from this day we might be in America; and they don't _keep_ a man down there because he is down.

Rachel, I'd like to see you dressed as you used to be; I'd like to bring up the little one to be as good as its parents, at least. I'd like to be there now; why, the dollars come in by handfuls, and silk's as cheap as calico."

How could woman resist such an El Dorado? How could such an inducement fail to have its due weight? His wife feels that she could start forthwith, but there is one insuperable difficulty, and she rejoins--

"Ah, that's all very well, Tom, and we might get our heads above water over there, it's likely enough. But how are we to get to America?--people can't travel nor do anything else without money; and where is it to come from?"

"_You know_," replied Tom, with a meaning smile on his pale, anxious face; and while he speaks the clock of a neighbouring church strikes ten.

"Any way but _that_, Tom," says his wife, with a shudder. "I'd do anything, and bear anything for you; but not _that_, Tom--not _that_, as you've a soul to be saved!"

"It must be that way, or no way at all, missus," Tom hisses between his teeth, keeping down his anger and a rising oath with a strong effort. "I've done all _I_ can; it's time for _you_ to take your share. Why, look ye here, Rachel; a hundred pound's a vast of money--a hundred pounds is five hundred dollars. Oh, I'm not going blindly to work, you may depend. If we could begin life with half that, over the water, it would be the making of us. I'd leave off drinking--so help me heaven, I would!--take the pledge, and work like a new one. You'd have a house of your own, Rachel, instead of such a dog-hole as this; and I'd like to see one of them that would take the shine out of my wife on Sundays, when she was tidied up and dressed. Then we'd put the little one to school, when she's old enough, and we'd keep ourselves respectable, and attend to business, and be a sight happier than we've ever been in this miserable country. And all just for the scratch of a pen; Rachel, d'ye think I'd refuse _you_ a trifle like that, if you was to ask me?"

"O Tom, I never could do it," says his wife; "good never would come of such a sin as that."

"Well, Rachel," rejoins her husband, "there's some men would make ye.

Well, you needn't draw up so; I'm not going to come it so strong as all that. Let's talk it over peaceably, any way. And first, where's the harm? There's Master Charlie, if ever he comes back from the wars, isn't he to marry Miss Blanche? And so it's six to one, and half-a-dozen to the other. And what's a hundred pounds out of all their thousands? Besides, didn't the old lady mean to leave you as much as that? and didn't you deserve it? And if she had lived, wouldn't she have signed her own name; and where's the harm of your doing it for her? You can write like your old mistress, Rachel," adds the tempter, with a ghastly smile; "there's pen and ink yonder on the mantelpiece. Come!" Rachel wavers; but education and good principles are still too strong within her, and she a.s.sumes an air of resolution she does not feel, as she takes up her work, and replies--

"Never, Tom, never!--not if you was to go down upon your bended knees.