The object which Gammon had originally proposed to himself, and unwaveringly fixed his eye upon amid all the mazy tortuosities of his course, since taking up the cause of Tittlebat Titmouse, was his own permanent establishment in the upper sphere of society; conscious that, above all, could he but once emerge into political life, his energies would insure him speedy distinction. With an independent income of £2,000 a-year, he felt that he should be standing on sure ground. But even above and beyond this, there was one dazzling object of his hopes and wishes, which, unattained, would, on several accounts, render all others comparatively valueless—a union with Miss Aubrey. His heart fluttered within him at the bare notion of such an event. What effect would be produced upon that beautiful, that pure, high-minded, but haughty creature—for haughty to him had Kate Aubrey ever appeared—by a knowledge that he, Gammon, possessed the means—Bah! accursed Titmouse!—thought Gammon, his cheek suddenly blanching as he recollected that through him those means no longer existed.—Stay!—Unless, indeed—...—which would, however, be all but impossible—perilous in the extreme! Absorbed with these reflections, he started on being accosted by the footman of the Earl of Dreddlington; who, observing Gammon, had ordered his carriage to draw up, to enable his Lordship to speak to him. It was the end of Oxford Street nearest to the City.

"Sir—Mr. Gammon—good-day, sir!"—commenced the earl, with a slight appearance of disappointment, and even displeasure, "pray, has anything unfortunate happened"——

"Unfortunate! I beg your Lordship's pardon"——interrupted Gammon, coloring visibly, and gazing with surprise at the earl.

"You do not generally, Mr. Gammon, forget your appointments. The marquis, I, and the gentlemen of the Direction, have been waiting for you in vain at the office for a whole hour."

"Good Heavens! my Lord—I am confounded!" said Gammon, suddenly recollecting the engagement he had made with the earl: "I have forgotten everything in a sudden fit of indisposition, with which I have been seized at the house of a client at Bayswater. I can but apologize, my Lord"——

"Sir, say no more; your looks are more than sufficient; and I beg that you will do me the honor to accept a seat in my carriage, and tell me whither you will be driven. I'm at your service, Mr. Gammon, for at least an hour; longer than that I cannot say, as I have to be at the House; you remember our two bills have to be forwarded a stage"——

Since his Lordship was as peremptory as politeness would permit him to be, in got Gammon, and named The Gunpowder and Freshwater Company's Offices, in Lothbury, in the hopes of finding yet some of the gentlemen whom he had so sadly disappointed; and thither, having turned his horses' heads, drove the coachman.

"Sir," said the earl, after much inquiry into the nature of Gammon's recent indisposition, "by the way, what can be the meaning of my Lord Tadpole's opposition to the second reading of our bill, No. 2?"

"We offered his Lordship no shares, my Lord—that is the secret. I saw him a few days ago, and he sounded me upon the subject; but—I'm sure your Lordship will understand—in a company such as ours, my Lord"——

"Sir, I quite comprehend you, and I applaud your vigilant discrimination. Sir, in affairs of this description, in order to secure the confidence of the public, it is a matter of the last importance that none but men of the highest—by the way, Mr. Gammon, how are the Golden Egg shares? Would you advise me to sell"——

"Hold, my Lord, a little longer. We are going, in a few days' time, to publish some important information concerning the prospects of the undertaking, of the most brilliant character, and which cannot fail to raise the value of the shares, and then will be the time to sell! Has your Lordship signed the deed yet?"

"Sir, I signed it last Saturday, in company with my Lord Marmalade. I should not like to part with my interest in the company, you see—Mr. Gammon—hastily; but I am in your hands"——

"My Lord, I am ever watchful of your Lordship's interests."

"By the way, will you dine with me to-morrow? We shall be quite alone, and I am very anxious to obtain an accurate account of the present state of Mr. Titmouse's property; for, to tell you the truth, I have heard of one or two little matters that occasion me some uneasiness."

"Can anything be more unfortunate, my Lord? I am engaged out to dinner for the next three days—if indeed I shall be well enough to go to any of them," said Gammon, with an agitation which could have escaped the observation of few persons except the Earl of Dreddlington.

"Sir—I exceedingly regret to hear it; let me trust that some day next week I shall be more fortunate. There are several matters on which I am desirous of consulting you. When did you last see Mr. Titmouse?"

"Let me see, my Lord—I—don't think I've seen him since Monday last, when I casually met him in one of the committee-rooms of the House of Commons, where, by the way, he seems a pretty frequent attendant."

"I'm glad to hear it," replied the earl, somewhat gravely; and, as Gammon imagined, with a slight expression of surprise, or even distrust. Gammon therefore fancied that the earl had received recent intelligence of some of the wild pranks of his hopeful son-in-law, and wished to make inquiries concerning them of Gammon

"Will you, sir,—by the way—have the goodness to write at your earliest convenience to General Epaulette's solicitors, and tell them I wish to pay off immediately £12,000 of his mortgage? Oblige me, sir, by attending to this matter without delay; for I met the general the other day at dinner—and—I might possibly have been mistaken, sir—but I fancied he looked at me as if he wished me to feel myself his debtor. Do you understand me, sir? It annoyed me; and I wish to get out of his hands as soon as possible."

"Rely upon it, my Lord, it shall be attended to this very day," replied Gammon, scarcely able—troubled though he was—to suppress a smile at the increasing symptoms of purse-pride in the earl, whose long-empty coffers were being so rapidly and unexpectedly replenished by the various enterprises into which, under Gammon's auspices, his Lordship had entered with equal energy and sagacity. While the earl was speaking, the carriage drew up at the door of the company's office, and Gammon alighted. The earl, however, finding that all the gentlemen whom he had left there, had quitted, drove off westward, at a smart pace, and reached the House in time for the matters which he had mentioned to Mr. Gammon. That gentleman soon dropped the languid demeanor he had worn in Lord Dreddlington's presence, and addressed himself with energy and decision to a great number of important and difficult matters demanding his attention—principally connected with several of the public companies in which he was interested—and one of which, in particular, required the greatest possible care and tact, in order to prevent its bursting—prematurely. He had also to get through a considerable arrear of professional affairs, and to write several letters on the private business of Lord Dreddlington, and of Mr. Titmouse—respectively. Nay, he had one or two still more urgent calls upon his attention. First came the action against himself for £4,000 penalties, for bribery, arising out of the Yatton election, and as to which he had received, that afternoon, a very gloomy "opinion" from Mr. Lynx, who was "advising" him on his defence. Much in the same plight, also, were Messrs. Bloodsuck, Mudflint, and Woodlouse, for whom Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap were defending similar actions; and who were worried out of their lives by daily letters from their terror-stricken clients, as to the state, progress, and prospects of the several causes in which they were so deeply interested. All these actions were being pressed forward by the plaintiffs with a view to trial at the ensuing York assizes; had been made, by the plaintiffs, special juries; and, infinitely to Gammon's vexation and alarm, he had found, on hurrying to retain Mr. Subtle, that he, Mr. Sterling, and Mr. Crystal, had been already retained for the plaintiffs! Lastly, he was dreadfully teased by an action of seduction, which had, a few days before, been brought against Mr. Titmouse; and which Gammon, finding it to be a very bad case, was making great efforts to compromise. To each and every of these matters, he gave the attention that was due—and, about seven o'clock, having finished his labors for the day, repaired, a good deal exhausted, to his chambers at Thavies' Inn. After a slight repast, he proceeded to draw up confidential "instructions" for Mr. Frankpledge, to frame the deeds necessary to carry into effect his contemplated arrangement with Titmouse. That did not take him long; and having sealed up his packet, and addressed it, he threw himself down on the sofa, and gave himself up to anxious meditation, for he was aware that he was now, as it were, touching the very crisis of his fortunes. Again, again, and again he recurred to the incident of the day—the destruction of his documents by Titmouse; and cursed his own inconceivable stupidity, even aloud. Yet he could not avoid indulging at the same time in secret pride and exultation at the presence of mind which he had displayed—the successful skill with which he had encountered so sudden, singular, and serious an emergency. But what would be the effect of the destruction of those documents, upon certain secret arrangements of his connected with Titmouse's recovery of the Yatton property? This was a question which occasioned Gammon great perplexity and apprehension. Then, as to Gammon's rent-charge of £2,000 per annum on the Yatton estates—he bethought himself, with no little uneasiness, of some expressions concerning Titmouse's property, let fall by the earl that day: and if his Lordship should persevere in his determination to become minutely acquainted with the state of Titmouse's property, how could the new and heavy encumbrance about to be laid upon it, possibly escape discovery? and if it did, how was it to be accounted for, or supported? Confound it! It seemed as if fate were bent upon urging on a catastrophe!

"Shall I," thought Gammon, "wait till I am challenged on the subject, and then fire my shot, and bring his Lordship down from the tight-rope? Then, however, I cannot but appear to have known the thing from the very beginning; and who knows what liabilities, civil or criminal—of fraud or conspiracy—may be attached to what I have done! Shall I wait for a convenient, though early opportunity, and rush, with dismay and confusion, into the earl's presence, as with a discovery only just made? By Heaven! but the thing wears already a very ugly appearance. If it come out, what an uproar will be in the world! The lightning will fall on my head first, unless I take care. The discovery will doubtless kill Lord Dreddlington; and as for his daughter, it may overturn the little reason she has!"

Passing from this subject, Gammon surveyed his other relations with the earl, which were becoming daily more involved and critical. He had seduced his Lordship into various mercantile speculations, such as had already placed him in a very questionable point of view, as taking deliberate, systematic advantage of the raging mania for bubble companies. In fact, Gammon had, by his skilful but not very scrupulous manoeuvring, already put into Lord Dreddlington's pocket some forty thousand pounds, and at the same time involved his Lordship in liabilities which he never dreamed of, and even Gammon himself had not contemplated. Then he warmed with his apparent proximity to Parliament, (to that part of Titmouse's bargain Gammon resolved to hold him to the very letter,) which he was sure of entering on the very next election. By that time he would have realized a sum, through his connection with the various companies, which, even independently of the income to be derived thereafter from the Yatton property, would render him so far independent as to warrant him in dissolving partnership with Messrs. Quirk and Snap, and quitting at least the practice of the profession.

Mr. Gammon was a man of very powerful mind, possessing energies of the highest order, and for the development and display of which he felt, and fretted when he felt, his present position in society afforded him no scope whatever, till at least he had entered upon that series of bold but well-conceived plans and purposes with which he has been represented as occupied, since the time when he first became the secret master of the fortunes of Titmouse. His ambition was boundless, and he felt within himself a capacity for the management of political affairs of no ordinary magnitude, could he but force himself into the regions where his energies and qualifications could be discovered and appreciated. Indeed, I will undertake to say, that, had Gammon only been a GOOD man, he would, in all probability, have become a great one. But, to proceed with the matters which were then occupying his busy brain. There was yet one upon which all his thoughts settled with a sort of agitating interest—his connection with the Aubreys; and whenever that name occurred to his thoughts, one beauteous image rose before him like that of an angel—I mean Miss Aubrey. She was the first object that had ever excited in him any, the faintest, semblance of the passion of love—that love, I mean, which is in a manner purified and sublimated from all grossness or sensuality by a due appreciation of intellectual and moral excellence. When he dwelt upon the character of Miss Aubrey, and for a moment realized the possibility of a union with her, he felt, as it were, elevated above himself. Then her person was very beautiful; and there was a certain bewitching something about her manners, which Gammon could only feel, not describe; in short, his passion for her had risen to a most extraordinary pitch of intensity, and became a sort of infatuation. In spite of all that had happened at Yatton, he had contrived to continue, and was at that moment, on terms of considerable intimacy with the Aubreys; and had, moreover, been all the while so watchful over himself as to have given none of them any reason to suspect the state of his feelings towards Miss Aubrey; and, on the other hand, nothing had ever transpired to give him the slightest inkling of the state of matters between Miss Aubrey and Delamere—with the exception of one solitary circumstance which had at the moment excited his suspicions—Mr. Delamere's contesting the borough of Yatton. Though he had watched for it, however, nothing had afterwards occurred calculated to confirm his apprehensions. He had taken infinite pains to keep a good name in Vivian Street, with great art representing, from time to time, his disgust for the conduct and character of Titmouse, and the reluctance with which he discharged his professional duty towards that gentleman. He made a point of alluding to the "gross and malignant insult" which had been offered at the hustings to the venerable Vicar of Yatton, and which, he said, was a sudden suggestion of Mr. Titmouse's, and carried into effect by "that vile Unitarian parson, Mudflint," in defiance of Mr. Gammon's wishes to the contrary. He represented himself as still haunted by the mild, reproachful look with which Dr. Tatham had regarded him, as though he had been the author of the insult. The account which appeared in the True Blue of his indignant interference on the occasion of Mr. Delamere's being struck on the hustings, was calculated, as Mr. Gammon conceived, to corroborate his representations, and aid the impression he was so anxious to produce. For the same reason, Mr. Gammon, whenever he had been at Yatton, had acted with great caution and secrecy, so as to give no cause of offence to Dr. Tatham; to whom he from time to time complained, in confidence, of those very acts of Mr. Titmouse which had been dictated to him by Mr. Gammon. Thus reasoned Mr. Gammon; but it would indeed have been singular had he succeeded as he desired and expected. He lost sight of the proverbial influence of one's wishes over one's belief. In imagining that he had concealed from the Aubreys all the unfavorable features of his conduct, was he not, in some degree, exhibiting the folly of the bird, which, thrusting its head only into the bush, imagines that it has thereby concealed its whole body?

The Aubreys knew amply sufficient to warrant a general dislike and distrust of Mr. Gammon; but there existed grave reasons for avoiding any line of conduct which Gammon might choose to consider offensive. Mr. Aubrey justly regarded him as standing, at present, alone between him and some of his most serious liabilities. If Gammon, to accomplish objects to them undiscoverable, wore a mask—why challenge his enmity by attempting to tear off that mask? Mr. Aubrey governed his movements, therefore, with a prudent caution; and though, after the election, and the infamous decision of the election committee, Gammon was received at Vivian Street—whither he went with no little anxiety and trepidation—it was with a visibly increased coolness and reserve, but still with studious courtesy; and beyond that distinct but delicate line, none of them ever advanced a hair's-breadth, which Gammon observed with frequent and heavy misgivings. But he felt that something must at length be done, or attempted, to carry into effect his fond wishes with reference to Miss Aubrey. Months had elapsed, and their relative position seemed totally unchanged since the first evening that his manoeuvre had procured him a brief introduction to Mrs. Aubrey's drawing-room. In fact, he considered that the time had arrived for making known, in some way or another, the state of his feelings to Miss Aubrey; and after long deliberation, he resolved to do so without loss of time, and, moreover, personally. He had a fearful suspicion that he should be—at all events at first—unsuccessful; and now that, having taken his determination, he passed in rapid review all their intercourse, he perceived less and less ground for being sanguine; for he felt that Miss Aubrey's manner towards him had been throughout more cold and guarded than that of either Mr. or Mrs. Aubrey. Like a prudent general contemplating the contingencies of an important expedition, and calculating his means of encountering them, Gammon considered—persuasion failing—what means of compulsion had he? He came, at length, finally to the conclusion, that his resources were most available at that moment; and, moreover, that his circumstances required an immediate move.

The very next day, about ten o'clock, he sallied forth from his chambers, and bent his steps towards Vivian Street, intending to keep watch for at least a couple of hours, with a view to ascertaining whether Mrs. Aubrey's going out unaccompanied by Miss Aubrey would afford him an opportunity of seeing Miss Aubrey, alone and undisturbed; reasonably reckoning on the absence of Mr. Aubrey at the Temple, whither he knew he always went about half-past nine o'clock. That day, however, Mr. Gammon watched in vain; during the time that he stayed, only the servants and the children quitted the door. The next day he walked deliberately close past the house; was that brilliant and tasteful performance of the piano, hers? Again, however, he was unsuccessful. On the third day, from a safe distance, he beheld both Mrs. and Miss Aubrey, accompanied by a female servant and the children, quit the house, and walk in the direction of the Park, whither—but at a great distance—he followed their movements with a beating heart. On a subsequent occasion, he saw Miss Aubrey leave the house, accompanied only by little Charles, and he instantly turned his steps despondingly eastward. How little did either of those fair beings dream of the strict watch thus kept upon their every movement! Two days afterwards, however, Gammon's perseverance was rewarded; for shortly after eleven o'clock, he beheld Mrs. Aubrey, accompanied by the two children, quit the house, and turn towards the Park. Gammon's heart began to beat hard. Though he never cared much for dress, his appearance on the present occasion afforded indications of some little attention to it; and he appeared simply a well-dressed gentleman, in a dark-blue buttoned surtout, with velvet collar, and plain black stock, as, after a moment's somewhat flurried pause, he knocked and rang at Mr. Aubrey's door.

"Is Mr. Aubrey within?" he inquired of the very pretty and respectable-looking maid-servant, who presently answered his summons.

"No, sir; he is never here after"——

"Perhaps Mrs. Aubrey"——

"No, sir; there is only Miss Aubrey at home; my mistress and the children are gone out into the Park, and Miss Aubrey is writing letters, or she would have gone with my mistress."

"Perhaps—I could see Miss Aubrey for a moment?" inquired Gammon, with as matter-of-fact an air as he could assume.

"Certainly, sir—she is in the drawing-room. Will you walk up-stairs?" said the girl, who of course knew him well, as not an infrequent visitor at the house. So she led the way up-stairs, he following, and with somewhat fading color.

"Mr. Gammon!" he presently heard, as he stood on the landing, echoed in the rich and soft voice of Miss Aubrey, who seemed to speak in a tone of great surprise, in answer to the servant's announcement. "Why, Fanny, did you not say that neither your master nor mistress was at home?" Gammon next heard hastily asked in a lower tone by Miss Aubrey, and his countenance fell a little; for there was a tone of displeasure, or chagrin, in her voice, especially as she added, "You should have said that I was engaged! However, show him in, Fanny;" and the next moment Mr. Gammon found himself bowing his way towards Miss Aubrey, with whom, for the first time in his life, he found himself alone.

She was sitting writing at her desk, before which stood, in a small flower-glass, a beautiful moss-rose. There was a little air of negligence in the arrangement of her hair, and her light morning costume displayed her figure to infinite advantage. There was really something inexpressibly lovely in her whole appearance, seen, though she was, at that moment, by Gammon, through the faint mist of displeasure which she had thrown around herself.

"Good-morning, Mr. Gammon," she commenced, rising a little from her chair; and sinking again into it, slightly turned it towards him, gazing at him with some curiosity.

"May I venture to hope, madam, that I am not intruding upon you?" said he, seating himself in the chair nearest to him.

"My brother always leaves at half-past nine; is he not at the Temple to-day, Mr. Gammon?" she added a little eagerly—for the first time observing something unusual in the expression of his countenance.

"I really don't know—madam,—in fact, I have not been there to-day; I thought it better, perhaps"——He paused for a second.

"I sincerely trust, Mr. Gammon," interrupted Miss Aubrey, slightly changing color, and looking with great anxiety at her visitor—"that nothing unpleasant—nothing unfortunate—has happened: do, pray, Mr. Gammon!" she continued earnestly, turning her chair full towards him—"for Heaven's sake, tell me!"

"I assure you, madam, upon my honor, that nothing whatever unpleasant has happened, that I know of, since last we met."

"Oh dear—I was getting so alarmed!" said she, with a faint sigh, her white hand hastily putting back the curls which were clustering rather more luxuriantly than usual over her cheek.

"Certainly, madam, you have no occasion to be alarmed; I have, however, an errand—one to me, at least, of inexpressible importance," he commenced, and in a lower key than that in which he had previously spoken; and there was a peculiarity in his manner which quite riveted Miss Aubrey's eye upon his expressive—and now, she saw plainly, agitated countenance. What can possibly be the matter? thought she, as she made a courteous but somewhat formal inclination towards him, and said something about "begging him to proceed."

"I hope, madam, that, comparatively few as have been my opportunities of becoming acquainted with it, I may venture to express, without offence, my profound appreciation of your superior character."

"Really, sir," interrupted Miss Aubrey, very anxiously—"you are not candid with me. I am now certain that you have some unpleasant communication to make! Do, I entreat of you, Mr. Gammon, give me credit for a little presence of mind and firmness; let me know the worst, and be prepared to break it to my brother and sister." Gammon seemed unable to bear her bright blue eyes fixed upon his own, which he directed to the floor, while his cheek flushed. Then he looked again at her; and with an eye which explained all, and drove away the bloom from her cheek, while it also suspended, for a moment, her breathing.

"Oh, forgive me for an instant—for one moment bear with me, Miss Aubrey!" continued Gammon, in a voice of low and thrilling pathos—"this interview agitates me almost to death; it is that which for a thousand hours of intense—absorbing—agonizing doubts and fears, I have been looking forward to!" Miss Aubrey sat perfectly silent and motionless, gazing intently at him, with blanched cheek: he might have been addressing a Grecian statue. "And now—now that it has at last arrived—when I feel as if I were breathing a new—a maddening atmosphere, occasioned by your presence—by the sight of your surpassing loveliness"——

"Gracious Heaven, sir! what can you mean!" at length interrupted Miss Aubrey, with a slight start—at the same time slipping her chair a little farther from Mr. Gammon. "I declare, sir, I do not in the least understand you," she continued with much energy; but her increasing paleness showed the effect which his extraordinary conduct had produced upon her. She made a strong and successful effort, however, to recover her self-possession.

"I perceive, madam, that you are agitated"——

"I am, sir! Astonished!—Shocked!—I could not have imagined"——

"Madam! madam! at the risk of being deemed unkind—cruel—if I die for it, I cannot resist telling you that I reverence—I love you to a degree"——

"Oh, Heavens!" murmured Miss Aubrey, still gazing with an air of amazement at him. Several times she thought of rising to ring the bell, and at once get rid of so astounding an interruption and intrusion; but for several reasons she abstained from doing so, as long as possible.

"It would be ridiculous, sir," said she, at length, with sudden spirit and dignity, "to affect ignorance of your meaning and intentions; but may I venture to ask what conduct of mine—what single act of mine—or word—or look—has ever induced you to imagine—for one moment to indulge so insane"——

"Alas, madam, that which you could not conceal or control—your incomparable excellence—your beauty—loveliness—Madam! madam! the mere sight of your transcendent charms—my soul sank prostrate before you the first moment that I ever saw you"——

All this was uttered by Gammon in a very low tone, and with passionate fervor of manner. Miss Aubrey trembled visibly, and had grown very cold. A little vinaigrette stood beside her—and its stinging stimulating powers were infinitely serviceable, and at length aided her in making head against her rebellious feelings.

"I certainly ought to feel flattered, sir," said she, rapidly recovering herself—"by the high terms in which you are pleased to speak of me—of one who has not the slightest claim upon your good opinion. I really cannot conceive what conduct of mine can have led you to imagine that such an—an—application—as this could be successful—or received otherwise than with astonishment—and, if persisted in—displeasure, Mr. Gammon." This she said in her natural manner, and very pointedly.

"Miss Aubrey—permit me"——said Mr. Gammon, passionately.

"I cannot, sir—I have heard already too much; and I am sure, that when a lady requests a gentleman to desist from conduct which pains and shocks her—sir," she added hastily and peremptorily—"I beg you will at once desist from addressing me in so very improper a strain and manner!"

"Indulge my agonized feelings for one moment, Miss Aubrey," said Gammon, with desperate energy—"alas! I had suspected—I had feared—that our respective positions in society would lead you to despise so comparatively humble and obscure a person in point of station and circumstances"——

"Sir!" exclaimed Kate, magnificently, drawing up her figure to its utmost height—her manner almost petrifying Gammon, whose last words she had most unaccountably imagined, at the moment, to amount to a bitter sarcastic allusion to their fallen fortunes, and diminished personal consequence in society; but she was quickly undeceived, as he proceeded fervently—"Yes, madam—your birth—your family connections—your transcendent mental and personal qualities, shining all the brighter in the gloom of adversity"——

"I—I—I beg your pardon, sir—I misunderstood you," said Kate, discovering her error, and coloring violently—"but it is even more painful to me to listen to the language you are addressing to me. Since you urge me to it, I beg you to understand, sir, that if by what you have been saying to me, I am to gather that you are making me an offer of your addresses—I decline them at once, most peremptorily, as a thing quite out of the question." The tone and manner in which this was said—the determination and hauteur perceptible in her striking and expressive features—blighted all the nascent hopes of Gammon; who turned perfectly pale, and looked the very image of misery and despair. The workings of his strongly marked features told of the agony of his feelings. Neither he nor Miss Aubrey spoke for a few moments. "Alas! madam," at length he inquired in a tremulous voice, "am I presumptuous, if I intimate a fear—which I dare hardly own to myself even—that I am too late—that there is some more fortunate"——Miss Aubrey blushed scarlet.

"Sir," said she, with quick indignant energy, "I should certainly consider such inquiries—most—presumptuous—most offensive—most unwarrantable!"—and indeed her eye quite shone with indignation. Gammon gazed at her with piercing intensity, and spoke not.

"You cannot but be aware, sir, that you are greatly taxing my forbearance—nay, sir, I feel that you are taking a very great liberty in making any such inquiries or suggestions," continued Miss Aubrey, proudly, but more calmly; "but, as your manner is unobjectionable and respectful, I have no difficulty in saying, sir, most unhesitatingly, that the reason you hint at, is not in the least concerned in the answer I have given. I have declined your proposals, sir, simply because I choose to decline them—because I have not, nor ever could have, the least disposition to entertain them."

Gammon could not, at the moment, determine whether she really had or had not a pre-engagement.

"Madam, you would bear with me did you but know the exquisite suffering your words occasion me! Your hopeless tone and manner appear to my soul to consign it to perdition—to render me perfectly careless about life," said Gammon, with irresistible pathos; and Miss Aubrey, as she looked and listened, in spite of herself pitied him. "I might, perhaps, establish some claim to your favor, were I at liberty to recount to you my long unwearied exertions to shield your noble-spirited brother—nay, all of you—from impending trouble and danger—to avert it from you."

"We are indeed deeply sensible of your kindness towards us, Mr. Gammon," replied Miss Aubrey, with her usual sweetness and fascinating frankness of manner which now he could not bear to behold.

"Suffer me, Miss Aubrey, but one word more," he continued eagerly, apprehensive that she was about to check him. "Were you but aware of the circumstances under which I come to throw myself at your feet—myself, and all I have—nor is that little, for I am independent of the world as far as fortune is concerned—I shall soon be in the House of Commons"—Miss Aubrey exhibited still more unequivocal symptoms of impatience—"and forever have abandoned the hateful walk in life to which for the last few years"——

"I suppose I must listen to you, sir, however uselessly to yourself and disagreeable and painful to me. If, after all I have said, you choose to persevere," said Miss Aubrey, with calm displeasure——

But Gammon proceeded—"I say, Miss Aubrey, that could you but catch a glimpse—one momentary glimpse—of the troubles—the dangers which lurk around you all—infinitely greater than any which you have even yet experienced, severe and terrible though these have been—which are every day coming nearer and nearer to you"——

"What do you mean, Mr. Gammon?" interrupted Miss Aubrey, alarmedly.

"—And which, eager and anxious as may, and shall be, my efforts, I may be unable any longer to avert from you—you would at least appreciate the pure and disinterested motives with which I set out upon my truly disastrous mission."

"Once more, Mr. Gammon, I assure you that I feel—that we all of us feel—a lively gratitude towards you for the great services you have rendered us; but how can that possibly vary my resolution? Surely, Mr. Gammon, you will not require me to enter again upon a most unpleasant"——Gammon heaved a profound sigh—"With regard to your intimation of the danger which menaces us—alas! we have seen much trouble—and Providence may design us to see much more—I own, Mr. Gammon, that I am disturbed by what you have said to me on that subject."

"I have but one word more to say, madam," said Gammon, in a low impassioned tone, evidently preparing to sink upon one knee, and to assume an imploring attitude; on which Miss Aubrey rose from her chair, and, stepping back a pace or two, said with great resolution, and in an indignant manner—"If you do not instantly resume your seat, sir, I shall ring the bell; for you are beginning to take advantage of my present defenceless position—you are persecuting me, and I will not suffer it.—Sir, resume your seat, or I summon the servant into the room—a humiliation I could have wished to spare you."

Her voice was not half so imperative as was her eye. He felt that his cause was hopeless—he bowed profoundly, and said in a low tone—"I obey you, madam."

Neither of them spoke for some moments. At length—"I am sure, sir," said Miss Aubrey, looking at her watch, "you will forgive me for reminding you that when you entered I was engaged writing letters"—and she glanced at her desk—"for which purpose alone it is that I am not now accompanying my sister and the children."

"I feel too painfully, madam, that I am intruding; but I shall soon cease to trouble you. Every one has some great bitterness to pass through at some time or other of his life—and I have this instant passed through mine," replied Gammon, gloomily. "I will not say that the bitterness of death is past; but I feel that life has henceforth, as far as I am concerned, nothing worth pursuing."—Miss Aubrey remained silent while he spoke.—"Before we part, Miss Aubrey, and close, as far as I—nay, as far, it may be, as both of us are concerned—a very memorable interview, I have yet one communication to make, to which you will listen with absorbing interest. It will be made to you in such confidence as, having heard it, you may consider yourself at liberty conscientiously to keep from every person upon earth; and I shall leave it to produce such effect upon you as it may."

"I shall not disguise from you, sir, that your demeanor and your language alarm me terribly," said Miss Aubrey, peculiarly struck by the sinister expression of his eye—one quite inconsistent with the sad, subdued, gentle tone and manner of his address. "I am not anxious to receive so dark and mysterious a communication as you hint at; and, if you think proper to make it, I shall use my own discretion as to keeping it to myself, or mentioning it to any one whom I may choose—of that I distinctly apprise you, sir. You see that I am agitated; I own it," she added, dropping her voice, and pressing her left hand against her side; "but I am prepared to hear anything you may choose to tell me—that I ought to hear.—Have mercy, sir," she added in a melting voice, "on a woman whose nerves you have already sufficiently shaken!"

Gammon gazed at her with a bright and passionate eye that would have drunk her very soul. After a moment's pause—"Madam, it is this," said he, in a very low tone: "I have the means—I declare in the presence of Heaven, and on the word and honor of a man"—[Oh, Gammon! Gammon! Gammon! have you forgotten what occurred between you and your friend Titmouse one short week ago? Strange, infatuated man! what can you mean? What if she should take you at your word?]—"of restoring to your brother all that he has lost—the Yatton property, Miss Aubrey—immediately—permanently—without fear of future disturbance—by due process of law—openly and most honorably."

"You are trifling with me, sir," gasped Miss Aubrey, faintly, very faintly—her cheek blanched, and her eye riveted upon that of Gammon.

"Before God, madam, I speak the truth," replied Gammon, solemnly.

Miss Aubrey seemed struggling ineffectually to heave a deep sigh, and pressed both hands upon her left side, over her heart.

"You are ill, very ill, Miss Aubrey," said Gammon, with alarm, rising from his chair. She also arose, rather hastily; turned towards the window, and with feeble trembling hands tried to open it, as if to relieve her faintness by the fresh air. But it was too late; poor Kate had been at length overpowered, and Gammon reached her just in time to receive her inanimate figure, which sank into his arms. Never in his life had he been conscious of the feelings he that moment experienced, as he felt her pressure against his arm and knee, and gazed upon her beautiful but death-like features. He felt as though he had been brought into momentary contact with an angel. Every fibre within him thrilled. She moved not; she breathed not. He dared not kiss her lip, her cheek, her forehead, but raised her soft white hand to his lips, and kissed it with indescribable tenderness and reverence. Then, after a moment's pause of irresolution, he gently drew her to the sofa, and laid her down, supporting her head and applying her vinaigrette, till a deep-drawn sigh evidenced returning consciousness. Before she had opened her eyes, or could have become aware of the assistance he had rendered her, he had withdrawn to a respectful distance, and was gazing at her with deep anxiety. It was several minutes before her complete restoration—which, however, the fresh air entering through the windows, which Gammon hastily threw open, added to the incessant use of her vinaigrette, greatly accelerated.

"I hardly know, sir," she commenced in a very low and faint tone of voice, and looking languidly at him, "whether I really heard you say, or only dreamed that I heard you say, something most extraordinary about Yatton?"

"I pray you, madam, to wait till you are completely restored; but it was indeed no dream—it was my voice which you heard utter the words you allude to; and when you can bear it, I am ready to repeat them as the words, indeed, of truth and soberness."

"I am ready now, sir—I beg you will say quickly what you have to say," replied Miss Aubrey, with returning firmness of tone and calmness of manner; at the same time passing her snowy handkerchief feebly over her forehead.

He repeated what he had said before. She listened with increasing excitement of manner; her emotions at length overmastered her, and she burst into tears, and wept for some moments unrestrainedly.

Gammon gazed at her in silence; and then, unable to bear the sight of her sufferings, turned aside his head, and gazed towards the opposite corner of the room. How little he thought, that the object on which his eyes accidentally settled, a most splendid harp, had been, only a few days before, presented to Miss Aubrey by Mr. Delamere!

"What misery, Miss Aubrey, has the sight of your distress occasioned me!" said Gammon, at length; "and yet why should my communication have distressed you?"

"I cannot doubt, Mr. Gammon, the truth of what you have so solemnly told me," she replied in a tremulous voice; "but will you not tell my unfortunate, my high-minded, my almost broken-hearted brother?" Again she burst into a fit of weeping.

"Must I—dare I—say it, Miss Aubrey," presently inquired Gammon, in a broken voice; "can I say it without occasioning what I dread more than I can express—your displeasure? The use to be made of my power rests with you alone."

She shook her head bitterly and despairingly, and hid her face in her handkerchief while he proceeded.

"One word—one blessed word from your lips—and before this very day shall have passed away, I strike down the wretched puppet that at present defiles Yatton—replace your noble-minded brother there—restore you all to its delicious shades—Oh, Miss Aubrey, how you will love them! A thousand times dearer than ever! Every trace of the wretched idiot now there shall vanish; and let all this come to pass before I presume to claim"——

"It is impossible, sir," replied Miss Aubrey, with the calmness of despair, "even were you to place my brother on the throne of England. Is it not cruel—shocking—that if you know my brother is really entitled—nay, it is monstrous injustice!—What maybe the means at your command I know not—I shall not inquire; if to be purchased only on the terms you mention"—she involuntarily shuddered—"be it so—I cannot help it; and if my brother and his family must perish because I reject your addresses"——

"Say not that word, Miss Aubrey! Do not shut out all hope—Recall it! For God's sake consider the consequences to your brother—to his family! I tell you that malice and rapacity are at this moment gleaming like wild wolves within a few paces of you—ready to rush upon you. Did you but see them as distinctly as I do, you would indeed shudder and shrink"——

"I do, sir; but we trust in a merciful Providence," replied Miss Aubrey, clasping together her hands, "and resign ourselves to the will of Heaven."

"May not Heaven have brought about this meeting between us as a mode of"——

"Monstrous!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, in a voice and with a look which for a moment silenced him.

"It is high time that you should leave me, sir," presently said Miss Aubrey, determinedly. "I have suffered surely sufficiently already; and my first answer is also my last. I beg now, sir, that you will retire."

"Madam, you are obeyed," replied Gammon, rising, and speaking in a tone of sorrowful deference. He felt that his fate was sealed. "I now seem fully aware, to myself even, of the unwarrantable liberty I have taken, and solicit your forgiveness—" Miss Aubrey bowed to him loftily.—"I will not presume to solicit your silence to Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey concerning the visit I have paid you?" he continued very anxiously.

"I am not in the habit, sir, of concealing anything from my brother and sister; but I shall freely exercise my own discretion in the matter."

"Well, madam," said he, preparing to move towards the door, while Miss Aubrey raised her hand to the bell—"in taking leave of you," he paused—"let me hope, not forever—receive my solemn assurance, given before Heaven! that, haughtily as you have repelled my advances this day, I will yet continue to do all that is in my power to avert the troubles now threatening your brother—which I fear, however, will be but of little avail! Farewell, farewell, Miss Aubrey!" he exclaimed; and was the next moment rapidly descending the stairs. Miss Aubrey, bursting afresh into tears, threw herself again upon the sofa, and continued long in a state of excessive agitation. Mr. Gammon walked eastward at a rapid pace, and in a state of mind which cannot be described. How he loathed the sight of Saffron Hill, and its disgusting approaches! He merely looked into the office for a moment, saying that he felt too much indisposed to attend to business that day; and then betook himself to his solitary chambers—a thousand times more solitary and cheerless than ever they had appeared before—where he remained in a sort of revery for hours. About eleven o'clock that night, he was guilty of a strange piece of extravagance; for his fevered soul being unable to find rest anywhere, he set off for Vivian Street, and paced up and down it, with his eye constantly fixed upon Mr. Aubrey's house; he saw the lights disappear from the drawing-room, and reappear in the bedrooms: them also he watched out—still he lingered in the neighborhood, which seemed to have a sort of fatal fascination about it; and it was past three o'clock before, exhausted in mind and body, he regained his chamber, and throwing himself upon the bed, slept from mere weariness.

Let us now turn to a man of a very different description—Mr. Aubrey. He had spent nearly a year in the real study of the law; during which time I have not the least hesitation in saying that he had made—notwithstanding all his dreadful drawbacks—at least five times the progress that is generally made by even the most successful of those who devote themselves to the legal profession. He had, moreover, during the same period, produced five or six exceedingly able political dissertations, and several important contributions to historical literature; and the reader will not be surprised to learn, that such exertions as these, and such anxieties as were his, had told visibly on the appearance of Mr. Aubrey. He was very thin; his cheek had lost its color; his eye was oppressed; his spirits had lost their buoyancy, except in the few intervals which he was permitted, by his harassing labors, of domestic enjoyment. He still bore up, however, against his troubles with an unyielding resolution; feeling that Providence had called upon him to do his uttermost, and await the result with patience and faith. Nothing had occurred during this long interval to brighten his prospects—to diminish his crushing load of liability by a hair's weight. But his well-disciplined mind now stood him in noble stead, and enabled him to realize a daily consciousness of advancement in the pursuits to which he had devoted himself. Well indeed may it be said, that there is no grander spectacle for angels or men, than a great mind struggling with adversity. To us, indeed, it is consolatory, encouraging, ennobling. Therefore, O Aubrey! do we now continue to contemplate you with profound interest, nor the less, because we perceive the constant presence with thee of One whose mighty assistance is dependent upon thy confidence in it. Hope ever, therefore, and struggle on!

The reader may imagine the alarm occasioned Mr. Aubrey on his return from the Temple on the evening of the day on which Gammon had paid his remarkable visit to Miss Aubrey, which I have been describing, by the sight of the troubled countenances of his wife and sister. Mrs. Aubrey had returned home within about half an hour after Gammon's leaving Vivian Street, and to her Miss Aubrey instantly communicated the extraordinary proposal which he had made to her, all, in fact, that had passed between them—with the exception of the astounding information concerning the alleged possibility of their restoration to Yatton. The two ladies had, indeed, determined on concealing the whole affair from Mr. Aubrey—at all events for the present; but their perceptible agitation increasing as he questioned them concerning the cause of it, rendered suppression impossible, and they told him frankly (excepting only the matter above mentioned) the singular and most embarrassing incident which had happened in his absence. Blank amazement was succeeded by vivid indignation in Mr. Aubrey, as soon as he had heard of this attempt to take advantage of their circumstances; and for several hours he was excessively agitated. In vain they tried to soothe him; in vain did Kate throw her arms fondly round him, and implore him, for all their sakes, to take no notice to Mr. Gammon of what had happened; in vain did she protest that she would give him instant intelligence of any future attempt by that person to renew his absurd and presumptuous offer; in vain did they both remind him, with great emotion, of the fearful power over all of them which was in Mr. Gammon's hands. Aubrey was peremptory and inflexible, and, moreover, frank and explicit; and told them, on quitting home the next morning, that, though they might rely on his discretion and temper, he had resolved to communicate that day, either personally or by letter, with Mr. Gammon; not only peremptorily forbidding any renewal of his proposals, but also requesting him to discontinue his visits in Vivian Street.

"Oh, Charles! Charles! be punctually home by six!" exclaimed they, as he embraced them both at parting, and added, bursting afresh into tears, "do consider the agony—the dreadful suspense we shall be in all day!"

"I will return by six, to a minute! Don't fear for me!" he replied with a smile—which, however, instantly disappeared, as soon as he had quitted their presence.

Old Mr. Quirk was the next morning, about ten o'clock, over head and ears in business of all kinds—and sadly missed the clear-headed and energetic Gammon; so, fearing that that gentleman's indisposition must still continue, inasmuch as there were no symptoms of his coming to the office as usual, he took off his spectacles, locked his room door, in order to prevent any one by any possibility looking on any of the numerous letters and papers lying on his table; and set off to make a call upon Mr. Gammon—whose countenance, flushed and harassed, strongly corroborated his representations concerning the state of his health. Still, he said, he could attend to any business which Mr. Quirk was prepared then to mention; whereupon Mr. Quirk took from his pocket a piece of paper, drew on his glasses, and put questions to him from a number of memoranda which he had made for the purpose. Gammon's answers were brief, pointed, and explicit, on all matters mentioned, as might have been expected from one of his great ability and energy—but his muddle-headed companion could not carry away a single clear idea of what had been so clearly told him; and without avowing the fact, of which he felt, however, a painful consciousness, simply determined to do nothing that he could possibly avoid doing, till Mr. Gammon should have made his reappearance at the office, and reduced the little chaos there into something like form and order.

Before he quitted Mr. Gammon, that gentleman quietly and easily led the conversation towards the subject of the various outstanding debts due to the firm.

"Ah, drat it!" quoth the old gentleman, briskly—"the heaviest, you know, is—eh?—I suppose, however," he added apprehensively, and scratching his head, "I mustn't name that—I mean that fellow Aubrey's account—without our coming to words."

"Why—stay! stay," said Mr. Gammon, with a gravely thoughtful air—"I don't see that, either, Mr. Quirk. Forbearance has its limits. It may be abused, Mr. Quirk."

"Ecod! I should think so!" quoth Mr. Quirk, eagerly—"and I know who's abused somebody's forbearance—eh, Gammon?"

"I understand you, my dear sir," replied Gammon, with a sigh—"I fear I must plead no longer for him—I have gone already, perhaps, much farther than my duty to the firm warranted."

"It's a heavy balance, Gammon—a very heavy balance, £1,446 odd, to be outstanding so long—he agreed to pay interest on't—didn't he, eh?—But really something ought to be done in it; and—come, Gammon, as you have had your turn so long, now comes mine!—Tip him over to me."

"I should be very sorry to distress him, poor devil!"

"Distress him? Our bill must be paid. D—n him! why don't he pay his debts? I pay mine—you pay yours—he must pay his."

"Certainly. By the way," said Gammon, suddenly, "if you were to take bold and decided steps, his friends would undoubtedly come forward and relieve him."

"Ay! ay!—What think you of three days—give him three days to turn about in?—There he's living all the while in a d—d fine house at the West End, like a gentleman—looks down, I'll be sworn, on us poor attorneys already, beggar as he is, because he's coming to the bar. Now mind, Gammon, no nonsense! I won't stand your coming in again as you did before—if I write—honor between thieves! eh?"

"I pledge my honor to you, my dear sir, that I will interfere no more; the law must take its course."

"That's it!" said Mr. Quirk, rubbing his hands gleefully; "I'll tip him a tickler before he's a day older that shall wake him up—ah, ha!"

"You will do me one favor, Mr. Quirk, I am sure," said Mr. Gammon, with that civil but peremptory manner of his, which invariably commanded Quirk's assent to his suggestions—"you will insert a disclaimer in the letter of its emanating from me—or being with my consent."

"Oh lud, yes! yes! anything."

"Nay—rather against my wish, you know—eh? Just for appearance's sake—as I have always appeared so infernally civil to the man, till now."

"Will you draw it up yourself? And then, so as the other matter's all right—no flinching—stick in as much palaver, Gammon!—aha!—as you like!" replied Quirk; who, as the proposal involved only a greater measure of discourtesy on his part, without any sacrifice of his interest, regarded it with perfect indifference. He took his leave of Gammon in better spirits than those which he had carried with him. It having been thus determined on by the partners, that within a day or two's time, Mr. Aubrey should be required to pay the whole balance, under penalty of an arrest—Gammon, on being left alone, folded his arms as he sat beside his breakfast-table—and meditated on the probable results of this his first hostile move against Mr. Aubrey. "I wonder whether she's told him," thought he, with a slight palpitation—which was somewhat increased by a pretty sharp knock at his outer door. The color suddenly deserted his cheek as he started from his seat, scattering on the floor nearly a dozen unopened letters which had been lying at his elbow, on the table: and he stood still for a moment to subdue a little of his agitation, so as to enable him to present himself with some show of calmness before the visitor whom he felt perfectly certain that he should see on opening the door. He was right. The next minute beheld him ushering into his room, with a surprising degree of self-possession, Mr. Aubrey, whose countenance showed embarrassment and agitation.

"I have called upon you, Mr. Gammon," commenced Aubrey, taking the seat to which Mr. Gammon, with great courtesy, motioned him, and then resumed his own, "in consequence of your visit yesterday in Vivian Street—of your surprising interview with my sister—your most unexpected, extraordinary proposal to her."

Mr. Gammon listened respectfully, with an air of earnest attention, evidently not intending to make any reply.

"It cannot surprise you, sir, that I should have been made acquainted with it immediately on my return home yesterday evening. It was undoubtedly my sister's duty to do so; but she did it, I am bound to acknowledge to you, sir, with great reluctance, as a matter of exquisitely painful delicacy. Sir, she has told me all that passed between you."

"I cannot presume, Mr. Aubrey, to find fault with anything Miss Aubrey may have thought proper to do; she cannot do wrong," replied Gammon, calmly, though Mr. Aubrey's last words had occasioned him lively anxiety as to the extent of Miss Aubrey's communications to her brother. He observed Mr. Aubrey's eyes fixed upon him steadfastly, and saw that he was laboring under much excitement. "If I have done anything calculated to inflict the slightest pain upon a lady for whom I have so profound"—he saw the color mounting into Mr. Aubrey's cheek, and a sterner expression appearing in his eye—"a respect, or upon you, or any of your family, I am distressed beyond measure."

"I perfectly appreciate, Mr. Gammon, the position in which we stand with regard to each other," said Mr. Aubrey, with forced calmness. "Though I am fearfully changed in respect of fortune, I am not a whit changed—we are none of us changed," he continued proudly, "in respect of personal feelings and character."

He paused: Gammon spoke not. Presently Mr. Aubrey resumed—"I am, as we are all, very deeply sensible of the obligation which you have conferred upon us, and at the same time feel, that we are, to a great extent, placed at your mercy."

"Pray—I beg, Mr. Aubrey, that you will not speak in a strain which really hurts my feelings," interrupted Gammon, earnestly; "and which nothing on, my part has justified, nor can justify."

"Sir," continued Mr. Aubrey, firmly, "I meant nothing in the least calculated to wound your feelings, but merely to express my own; and let me, Mr. Gammon, without the least reserve or circumlocution, inform you that both my sister and I have felt vivid dissatisfaction at your conduct of yesterday; and I have deemed it expedient to lose no time in informing you that your proposals are utterly out of the question, and can never be entertained, under any circumstances, for one moment."

Had Aubrey been, instead of the mere pauper he really was, and in the presence of one whom he knew to be able to cast him instantly into prison, at that moment in the position he had formerly occupied, of wealth and greatness, he could not have spoken with an air of more dignified determination, and even hauteur: which Gammon perceived, and fully appreciated.

"I am undoubtedly aware, sir, of the disparity between Miss Aubrey and myself in point of position," said he, coldly.

"I have said nothing of the kind that I am aware of, nor would I, on any account, say anything offensive to you, Mr. Gammon; but it is my duty to speak explicitly and decisively. I therefore now beg you to understand that your overtures must not, in any shape, or at any time, be renewed; and this I must insist upon without assigning or suggesting any reason whatever."

Gammon listened attentively and silently.

"I presume, Mr. Gammon, that I cannot be misunderstood?" added Mr. Aubrey, with a very perceptibly increased peremptoriness of manner.

"It would be difficult to misunderstand what you say, sir," replied Gammon, in whose dark bosom Mr. Aubrey's words had, as it were, stung and roused the serpent PRIDE—which might have been seen with crest erect, and glaring eyes. But Mr. Gammon's external manner was calm and subdued.

"It gives me pain to be forced to add, Mr. Gammon," continued Mr. Aubrey, "that after what has taken place, we all of us feel—that—it will be better for you to discontinue your visits at my house. I am sure your own sense of delicacy will appreciate the necessity which exists for such a suggestion on my part?"

"I perfectly understand you, Mr. Aubrey," replied Gammon, in the same grave and guarded manner which he had preserved throughout their interview. "I shall offer no apology, sir, for conduct which I do not feel to require one. I conceive that I had a perfect right to make, with all due deference and respect, the offer which it appears has given you so much offence; for reasons, it may be, which justify you, but which I cannot speculate upon, nor do I wish to do so. It is impossible ever to see Miss Aubrey without becoming sensible of her loveliness, both of person and character. I have paid them homage: for the rest, the issue is simply—unfortunate. While I may not feel disposed, even if inclined, to disregard your strict and solemn injunctions, I take leave to say that my feelings towards Miss Aubrey cannot alter; and if in no other way they can be gratified, there is yet one which"—here he looked greatly moved, and changed color—"yet remains open to me, to exhibit my regard for her in a tenfold anxiety to preserve her—to preserve all of you, Mr. Aubrey, from the approach of difficulty and danger. That much Miss Aubrey may have also told to you, of what passed between us yesterday." He paused—from emotion apparently; but he was only considering intently whether he should endeavor to ascertain if Mr. Aubrey had been put by his sister in possession of his—Gammon's, last communication to her; and then, however that might be, whether he should himself break the matter to Mr. Aubrey. But he decided both questions in the negative, and proceeded, with a little excitement of manner—"There are dangers menacing you, I grieve to say, Mr. Aubrey, of the most serious description, which I may possibly be unable to avert from you! I fear I am losing that hold upon others which has enabled me hitherto to save you from rapacity and oppression! I regret to say that I can answer for others no longer; but all that man can do, still will I do. I have been most bitterly—most fearfully disappointed; but you shall ever find me a man of my word—of as high and rigid honor, perhaps, even, Mr. Aubrey, as yourself"—he paused, and felt that he had made an impression on his silent auditor—"and I hereby pledge myself, in the presence of God, that so far as in me lies, there shall not a hair of any of your heads be touched." Again he paused. "I wish, Mr. Aubrey, you knew the pressure which has been for some time upon me—nay, even this very morning"——he cast a melancholy and reluctant eye towards the letters which he had gathered up, and which he had placed beside him on the breakfast-table—"I have received a letter—here it is—I know the handwriting; I almost dread to open it." Mr. Aubrey changed color.

"I am at a loss to know to what, in particular, you are alluding, Mr. Gammon?" he interrupted anxiously.

"I will not at present say more on the subject; I devoutly hope my negotiations may be successful, and that the affair may not for many months, or even years, be forced upon your attention! Still, were I to do so, one effect, at least, it would have—to satisfy you of my honorable and disinterested motives in the offer which I presumed to make Miss Aubrey."

"Well, sir," replied Mr. Aubrey, with a melancholy air, and sighing deeply, "I can only place my trust in Providence—and I do. I have suffered much already; and if it be the will of Heaven that I should suffer more, I hope it will be proved that I have not suffered already—in vain!"

"Mr. Aubrey," said Gammon, gazing at him with a brightening eye, "my very soul owns the sublime presence of VIRTUE, in your person! It is exalting—it is ennobling—merely to be permitted to witness so heroic an example of constancy as you exhibit!"—He paused, and for some moments there was silence—"You do not distrust me, Mr. Aubrey?" said Gammon, at length, with a confident air.

"No, Mr. Gammon!" replied Mr. Aubrey, eying him steadfastly. "I'm not aware that I ever had any reason for doing so."

Shortly afterwards he took his departure; and as he bent his steps slowly, and with thoughtful air, towards the Temple, he saw one or two things, on his own part, during his interview with Gammon, to regret—namely, his sternness and pride; but nothing on the part of Gammon, that had not been admirable. Could Mr. Aubrey, however, but have seen the satanic smile which settled upon Mr. Gammon's features, as soon as, after cordially shaking his hand, he calmly shut the door upon Mr. Aubrey, it might have occasioned some few misgivings as to Mr. Gammon's sincerity. He resumed his seat, and meditated upon their recent interview. Almost the first glance which he had caught of Mr. Aubrey's countenance, and the very first tones of his voice which had fallen on Gammon's ear, had inspired him with a deadly animosity against poor Aubrey, whose pride Gammon resolved to trample upon and crush into the dust. He was acquainted with the state of Aubrey's little finances, almost to a pound; for Aubrey had, under the circumstances, felt it even a duty to be frank with him upon that subject. He turned over in his mind, with great anxiety, the matter of the two promissory notes for five thousand pounds each, which he held in his hands, and which would be the best mode of setting into motion, but with the hands of another, those two dreadful instruments of torture and oppression—which, judiciously applied, might have the effect of humbling the pride and breaking the determination of Aubrey and of his sister. Long he considered the subject, in every point of view; and at length—"Ay, that will do!" said he to himself aloud; sighed, smiled, and gently tapped his fingers upon his ample forehead. Shortly afterwards, having ordered his laundress to take away the breakfast things, he took pen, ink, and paper, and sketched off the following draft of a letter, to be copied by Mr. Quirk, and signed in the name of the firm, and sent, Gammon finally determined, early in the ensuing week:—

"Saffron Hill, 9th July 18—.

"Dear Sir,—Owing to a most serious and unexpected pecuniary outlay which we are called upon to make, we feel ourselves compelled to avail ourselves of whatever resources lie within our reach. Having been disappointed in several quarters, we are obliged to remind you of the heavy balance we have against you of £1,446, 14s. 6d. You must be aware of the length of time during which it has been standing; and trust you will forgive us if we at length apprise you that it is absolutely impossible for us to allow of any more delay. Unless, therefore, the whole of the above balance, or at least £1,000 of it, be paid within three days of the date hereof, we regret to inform you we have finally made up our minds to let the law take its usual course. We feel the less hesitation in saying thus much, because we are persuaded that, with a little exertion, you might long ago have liquidated this heavy balance, or the greater part thereof." (Mr. Gammon wrote as nearly in the peculiar style of Mr. Quirk as he could.)

"In writing thus, Messrs. Quirk and Snap feel it only due to their partner, Mr. Gammon, to add that he is no party to this application. Messrs. Q. and S. have felt, however, in making it, that the interests of the firm have already suffered long enough, through their deference to the personal wishes and feelings of one of the members of the firm; and but for whom, their heavy balance would have been called for long ago, and, no doubt, in due course discharged.

"We regret being unable to vary or depart from the determination above expressed; and most sincerely hope your resources are of that nature that we shall be spared the unpleasantness of commencing legal proceedings.

"And we remain, dear sir,

"Yours most respectfully,

Quirk, Gammon, & Snap.

"Charles Aubrey, Esquire,

"Vivian Street."

Exactly on the seventh day from that on which Mr. Gammon had made his ill-omened advances towards Miss Aubrey, did the above dreadful and heartless letter reach its destination—being delivered into Mr. Aubrey's hands while he was intently perusing a very heavy set of papers, which, at his request, Mr. Weasel had allowed him to take home. The painful scene which ensued I shall spare the reader—only mentioning that poor Miss Aubrey became almost frantic, treating herself as the sole occasion of this disaster. That very morning, at breakfast, had he been talking of selling out, of their precious remnant in the funds, the sum of £105, to enable him to become a pupil with Mr. Crystal, at the suggestion of the Attorney-General.

What was to be done in this fearful emergency none of them knew—except consenting to an immediate sale of all their plate, books, and furniture. Their affliction, indeed, knew no bounds. Even Mr. Aubrey, though for a long time he bore up heroically, was at length overcome by the agonies of the dear beings whose ruin was involved in his own.

Had not Gammon been prompt in his vengeance? So thought they all.

What was to be done? A word will suffice to explain Mr. Aubrey's position fully. It will be recollected, that about a twelvemonth before, he had been left in possession of a balance of £1,063, after paying the sum of £4,000 to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, Messrs. Runnington, and Mr. Parkinson, in the way which has been already mentioned. Since then, by his incessant exertions, he had realized the sum of £150 by his contributions to literary journals; and, by means of a severe and systematic economy, this sum, together with about £200 taken from his store of £1,063, had sufficed to cover their whole year's expenditure. 'Twas impossible to carry economy farther than they did, without, poor souls, positive injury to their health, and stinting the little children, as Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey often said to each other when alone, with tears and sighs of anguish.

Alas! misfortune followed him like a bloodhound, let him turn his steps whithersoever he might! Naturally anxious to make the most of his little store of £1,063, so long as any considerable portion of it could be spared from their immediate personal necessities, he looked about in all directions for some safe and profitable investment, which might produce him a little more income than could be derived from the funds. He cautiously avoided having the slightest, connection with any of the innumerable joint-stock speculations then afloat, and of which he saw distinctly the mischievous and ruinous tendency; and this, moreover, in spite of the artful occasional representations of Mr. Gammon. Having consulted his banker, and also a member of the House of Commons—one of the city members—a man of immense wealth, and great mercantile experience and sagacity, and with whom he had been intimate while in the House—confirmed by their approval, and also that of Mr. Weasel and Messrs. Runnington, all of whom poor Aubrey anxiously consulted concerning the disposal of this his little ALL; about six weeks after the period of his settlement with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, he invested five hundred pounds in the purchase of a particular foreign stock. Safe and promising as it appeared, however, at the very moment when it was in the highest repute, with capitalists of all descriptions both at home and abroad—from scarce any assignable reason, but forming one of the many unaccountable instances of fluctuation to which property of that kind is proverbially liable—Aubrey had hardly held his scrip for a month, when—alas!—to his dismay, he found the stock falling—falling—falling; down, down, down, it went, till his scrip was so much waste paper! His loss was irretrievable. The wealthy member whom he had consulted, lost nearly one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and was driven to the very verge of ruin. Mr. Weasel even—caution personified, in dealing with the little accumulation of his hard earnings—lost upwards of a thousand pounds; and Mr. Runnington, about double that sum. It required a great stretch of fortitude on the part of Mr. Aubrey to sustain this severe and sudden blow with anything like equanimity.—You should have seen and heard Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey, on that occasion, in order fully to appreciate the rich and melting tenderness of woman's love, sympathy, and fortitude.

This catastrophe—for surely such it was—had left him about £350 only in the funds, and in his banker's hands a little balance of some fifty or sixty pounds to meet his current expenses. The above amount, at the time when Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's letter reached him, had been necessarily diminished to about £290; which was positively all the money he had in the world, to save himself, and those dependent on him, from absolute destitution. Yet he was now peremptorily called upon, within three days' time, to pay the sum of £1,446, 14s. 6d.

He hurried off, early the next morning, in consternation, to Messrs. Runnington. Mr. Runnington, with a heavy heart and a gloomy countenance, set off instantly, alone, to the office of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He saw Mr. Gammon, who told him, with a well-dissembled air of disgust, to go in to Mr. Quirk, or Mr. Snap. He did so, and found them inexorable. Mr. Quirk doggedly told Mr. Runnington that he had been out of pocket long enough, and would not be fooled by one of his own partners any longer. Mr. Runnington quitted them, fairly at his wits' end; and, on his return, told Mr. Aubrey, whom he had left at his office, that he had done, and could do, "nothing with the vultures of Saffron Hill." Mr. Runnington felt that his unhappy client, Mr. Aubrey, was far too critically situated with respect to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, to admit of his threatening, on Mr. Aubrey's behalf, to refer their exorbitant and monstrous bill to taxation. He knew not, in fact, what suggestion to offer—what scheme to devise—to extricate Mr. Aubrey from his present dreadful dilemma. As for applying for pecuniary assistance from friends, Mr. Aubrey's soul revolted at the bare thought. What—borrow! Overwhelmed as he already was, it would be indeed grossly unprincipled! Was not one alone of his generous friends at that moment under a liability on his behalf of more than ten thousand pounds! No; with gloomy composure he felt that, at last, his hour was come; that a prison wall must soon intervene between him—poor broken-hearted soul!—and the dear beloved beings from whom, as yet, he had never been once separated—no! not for one moment deprived of blessed intercourse and communion with them—his wife—Kate—his unconscious little children——

Kate, however, got desperate; and, unknown to her brother, though with the full privity of his weeping wife, wrote off a long—a heart-rending letter to good old Lady Stratton, whose god-daughter she was, telling her everything. Kate sat up half the night writing that letter, and it was blistered with her tears. She took it very early in the morning, herself, to the post-office, and she and Mrs. Aubrey awaited the issue with the most trembling and fearful solicitude.

I have hardly heart to recount the events which followed upon poor Kate's adventure; but they form a striking exemplification of the mysterious manner in which frequently Providence, for its own awful and wise purposes, sees fit to accumulate troubles and sorrows upon the virtuous.

Old Lady Stratton had been for some months in very feeble health, and the receipt of Kate's letter occasioned her infinite distress. It will be remembered that she had long before effected a policy of insurance upon her life for £15,000, always intending to bequeath it as a little portion to poor Kate. She had many months—in fact, nearly a year and a half before—given the necessary instructions to her solicitor, good Mr. Parkinson of Grilston, for making her will, so as to carry into effect her kind intentions towards Kate; bequeathing also legacies of £500 a-piece to each of Mr. Aubrey's little children. How it came to pass, however, I scarcely know—except by referring it to that sad superstitious weakness which makes people often procrastinate the execution of so all-important an instrument as a will; but at the time when Kate's letter arrived, that will had not been executed, but still lay at Mr. Parkinson's office. Feeling greatly indisposed, however, shortly after she had received Miss Aubrey's letter, she sent off an express for Mr. Parkinson to attend with her will; and a few minutes afterwards her attendants found it necessary to send off another express for her physician, Dr. Goddart. Before drawing a check for the sum of £700, or £800, which she intended instantly to place at Mr. Aubrey's disposal, she awaited Mr. Parkinson's return, that he—who managed all her affairs—might inform her of the exact balance then at her banker's. He was absent from Grilston when the express arrived; but he was followed, and about seven o'clock that evening entered Lady Stratton's residence, carrying with him her will, ready prepared for execution. His chief clerk also accompanied him, lest, by any possibility, a witness should be wanting. The countenances of the domestics warned him that there was not one moment to be lost; and he hastened at once into Lady Stratton's bedchamber. There she lay, venerable old lady, propped up by pillows—her long white hair partially visible from under her cap. A hasty whisper from Dr. Goddart apprised him of the very critical situation of Lady Stratton. Writing materials stood ready prepared in the room against Mr. Parkinson's arrival. She recognized him on his passing the foot of the bed, and in a feeble voice whispered—"My will!—my will!"

[Oh, hasten! delay not an instant, Mr. Parkinson! If you did but know what depends on your movements—could you but at this moment—oh me!—could you but catch a glimpse of the scene passing in Vivian Street!—Give her the pen, Mr. Parkinson—guide her hand—place it upon the paper.]

But it was too late. Before the pen could be placed within her fingers, those fingers had become incapable of holding it—for Lady Stratton at that moment experienced the paralytic seizure which Dr. Goddart had been dreading for three or four hours before. Alas, alas! 't was all useless: pen, ink, and paper were removed. She lingered till about nine o'clock the next morning, when, in the presence of Mr. Parkinson, who had not quitted the room for one instant, death released the venerable sufferer. She had thus died intestate; and her next of kin became entitled to her property—which consisted of personalty only. Had this event happened but two years before, Mr. Aubrey and Kate would have been Lady Stratton's only next of kin: but now—alas!—Mr. Titmouse was also one of her next of kin, and entitled, as such, to a THIRD of all that which had been destined to the Aubreys alone!—In what a position were the Aubreys now placed? Titmouse would directly insist on his right to administer, in preference to Aubrey—and would succeed in establishing his right; for was he not equally near of kin, and moreover the creditor, to a very large extent, of Mr. Aubrey—who was, besides, utterly insolvent? What, then, would be the consequences of this move on the part of Titmouse? He would get into his possession all the property of Lady Stratton—and though not entitled to withhold payment to Mr. Aubrey and his sister of the shares due to them, he might interpose many obstacles in the way of their recovering, and avail himself of their insisting upon their rights, as a pretext for his insisting on his rights against Mr. Aubrey, even to the uttermost extremity!—All these, and many other similar considerations, passed quickly in review before the troubled mind of Mr. Parkinson. His fears were soon realized by events. Before the venerable deceased had been laid in Yatton churchyard, not far from her, beloved friend, Mrs. Aubrey, who had preceded her by a few months only, Mr. Parkinson received a letter from Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, as the solicitors of Mr. Titmouse, giving him formal notice of the title of their client, and requesting Mr. Parkinson to lose no time in making an inventory of the effects of her Ladyship, to whom Mr. Titmouse intended to administer immediately. Mr. Gammon himself went down, and arrived the day after the funeral. Guess his delighted astonishment on discovering the windfall which had come to his client, Mr. Titmouse, in the policy of £15,000, the existence of which they had, of course, never dreamed of!

But there was another discovery, which occasioned him not a little excitement, as his flushed cheek and suspended breath testified—alas! poor Aubrey's BOND for £2,000, with interest at five per cent!—an instrument which poor Lady Stratton, having always intended to destroy, latterly imagined that she had actually done so. It had, however, got accidentally mingled with other papers, which had found their way, in the ordinary course, to Mr. Parkinson, and who was himself ignorant of its existence, since it lay folded in a letter addressed to Lady Stratton, till it turned up while he was sorting the papers, in obedience to the request of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He turned pale and red by turns as he held the accursed document in his fingers; probably, thought he, no one on earth but himself knew of its existence; and—and—he knew what the deceased would have done—but his sense of duty prevailed! Of course the party entitled to sue for the principal money secured by it, together with all arrears of interest which might be due upon it, was now Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse!

—Surely it is hard to imagine a more dismal and wanton freak of fortune than this—as far, at least, as concerned poor Kate Aubrey.