At the earliest moment at which Mr. Aubrey could, without suspicion, extricate himself from the embraces of his overjoyed wife, sister, and children, on his return to Vivian Street, he withdrew to his study, in order—professedly—to despatch some letters; but really to peruse the paper which had been given to him by Mr. Runnington, with such ominous significance. His eye soon caught the words "Ex parte Titmouse"—and he glanced over the above report of the proceedings, with exceeding agitation. He read it over twice or thrice, and felt really sick at heart.

"Oh, unfathomable Gammon!" he exclaimed at length, aloud, laying down the paper, and sinking into his chair. "Surely I am the weakest, or you the subtlest of mankind!" He turned over in his thoughts everything that he could recollect of Gammon's conduct, from the first moment that they had met. He felt completely baffled and bewildered. Again he perused the report of the proceedings in the King's Bench—and would have again relapsed into thought; but his eye happened to alight on two or three notes lying on his table, where they had been placed by Fanny, having come in his absence. He opened the first listlessly, not knowing the handwriting; but, on unfolding it, he started violently on recognizing that of Gammon, within; and with mingled wonder and fear, read as follows:—

"Thavies' Inn.

"Dear Sir,—Heaven only knows when or where these hasty lines will find you. I am forced to address them to Vivian Street, being in total ignorance of your intended movements. If you have not taken my advice, and withdrawn from the kingdom, I know not what grievous indignity may not have befallen you. You may have been torn from your family, and now incarcerated in prison, the victim of a most cruel and inveterate rapacity. My conscience bears me witness that I can say—I can do—no more for you. I am grossly misrepresented—I am insulted, by having base and sinister motives attributed to me, for my conduct towards you—for my anxious and repeated interference on your behalf. In the Morning Growl of to-day you will probably see—if you have not already seen—the report of some proceedings against me, yesterday, in the Court of King's Bench. It may apprise you of the last desperate stand I have made for you. It is with bitter regret—it is with a feeling of deep indignation, that I tell you I am unable to fulfil my solemn, my deliberate, my repeated promise to you concerning the two promissory notes which you deposited with me, in implicit reliance on my honor. Alas! you must prepare for the worst! Mr. Titmouse and his new adviser can have, of course, but one object in requiring the surrender of the two promissory notes, which I have already been compelled to give up, under peril of an attachment for contempt of court. I have strained, God knows! every nerve on your behalf; have all but fatally quarrelled with Mr. Titmouse, and with my partners; and I stand in some measure compromised, by the recent proceedings, before the profession and the public—and all in vain! Yet, once more—if you are not blinded and infatuated beyond all example or belief—I implore you, in the name of Heaven—by every consideration that should influence a man of honor and of feeling—fly!—lose not a second after reading these lines, (which I entreat you to destroy when read,) or that second may involve your ruin—and the ruin of all connected with you! Believe me, your distressed—your unalterable friend,

"O. G."

Mr. Aubrey laid down this letter; and sinking back again into his chair, yielded for some moments to an impulse very nearly akin to despair. "Oh God!" he exclaimed, pressing his hand against his aching forehead—"to what hast Thou destined us, Thy wretched creatures!—I am forbidden to believe—I cannot—I will not believe—that Thou hast made us only to torment us; yet, alas! my spirit is at length drooping under these accumulated evils!—Oh God! oh God! I am blind. Give me sight, to discern Thy will concerning me!—Oh give me not up to despair! Break not the bruised reed! Quench not the smoking flax!—What is to become of me? Is this man Thy messenger of evil to me? Is he the subtle and vindictive fiend I fear him to be? What can be his object—his motive—for resorting to such tortuous and complicated scheming against us as must be his if he be playing the hypocrite?—or is he really what he represents himself? And am I guilty of groundless distrust—of gross ingratitude?—What shall I think, what can I do? Oh my God, preserve my senses to me—my understanding! My brain seems reeling! My perceptions are becoming disturbed!—Perhaps this very night the frightful scene of the morning may be acted over again! again my bleeding heart be torn from those it loves—to whom Thou hast united it!"—A deep sigh, or rather groan, burst from him; and leaning over the table, he buried his face in his hands, and remained for some time in that posture.

"What am I to do?" he presently inquired, rising, and walking to and fro. "Fly—he says! Were I weak and unprincipled enough to do so, should I not, in all human probability, fall into the deepest pit he has dug for me?—but be that as it may—fly I will not! Never! Never! Those dear—those precious beings in yonder room"—his heart thrilled within him—"may weep for me, but shall never BLUSH for me!"

"Why—how horrid is my position!" he presently exclaimed to himself! "Ten thousand pounds and upwards, must either I pay, or Lord De la Zouch for me, within a few months;—here is a second ten thousand pounds, with nearly five hundred pounds of interest; I have been to-day arrested for nearly fifteen hundred pounds; and this man Titmouse holds my bond for two thousand pounds more, and interest! Is it, then, Thy will, O God! that I am to sink beneath my troubles? Am I to perish from Thy sight? To be crushed beneath Thy displeasure?—Or merciful Father!—wilt Thou save me, when there is none other to help?"

Calmness seemed stealing insensibly over his troubled spirits; his agitated feelings sank gradually into an indescribable and wonderful repose; in that dismal moment of extreme suffering, his soul became blessedly sensible of its relationship to God;—that he was not the miserable victim of chance—as the busy spirit of darkness incessantly whispered in his ear—but in the hands of the Father of the spirits of all flesh, who listened, in his behalf, to the pleading of One touched with the feeling of our infirmities—who was in all points tempted, even as we are. His fainting soul felt sustained by the grace for which it had sought; the oil and balm of a sound scriptural consolation were poured into his wounds. Before his quickened eye arose many bright figures of those who had gloriously overcome the fiercest assaults of the Evil One, resisting even unto death:—he felt for a moment compassed about by a great cloud of witnesses to the mercy and goodness of God. Oh, in that moment, how, wonderfully little seemed the sorrows which had before appeared so great! He felt, in a manner, at once humbled and exalted. Invisible support clung to his confident soul—as if he were surrounded by the arm of Him who will not suffer us to be tempted above what we are able; but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that we may be able to bear it. He sank silently upon his knees; and with clasped hands, and his face raised towards heaven, with profound contrition of spirit, yet with firm faith, besought the mercy which God has promised to those who thus will ask for it. Thus occupied, he did not perceive the door gently opened, and by Mrs. Aubrey—who, closing it hastily after her, flung her arm round his neck, sinking down beside him, and in a low, fond voice, exclaimed—"Oh, my own love! My own Charles! My poor, oppressed, persecuted, heart-broken husband! Pray for me—me also!" He gently returned her embrace, looking at her unutterable things; and after they had remained thus for a few moments, they arose. He gazed at her with unspeakable tenderness, and a countenance full of serenity and resignation. He gently soothed her agitated feelings, and succeeded in communicating to her a measure of the composure which he experienced himself. Before they had quitted that little room, he had even apprised her faithfully of the peril which momentarily menaced them; and again the cold waters gushed over her soul. At length, however, she had recovered her self-possession sufficiently to return to the room she had quitted, and instantly blanched Miss Aubrey's cheek by communicating the new terrors which threatened them.

Just as they were finishing dinner—a mere mockery, however, of a meal—a double knock at the door occasioned them all not a little agitation; but, as the event proved, needlessly, since it announced the arrival of only their kind, experienced friend, Mr. Runnington—who evidently felt infinitely relieved at finding that Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey had been made acquainted by Mr. Aubrey with the additional source of apprehension afforded by the report of the preceding day's doings in the King's Bench. Mr. Runnington felt assured that within twenty-four hours' time, proceedings would be taken against Mr. Aubrey; whom, however, he reminded, that as in the former, so in the anticipated case, the extent of his immediate anxiety would be the finding bail for so very serious an amount; but that difficulty surmounted, he would be safe from personal annoyance and apprehension till the ensuing November. Mr. Aubrey then apprised Mr. Runnington of the death of Lady Stratton, and the grievous events connected with it, amid the tears and sobs of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate. Though he said but little, his countenance showed how much he was shocked by the intelligence. "Never in my experience," at length he observed, "a thirty-six years' experience in the profession, have I heard of, or met with, such a case of complicated misfortune as yours! 'But it is,' as the old proverb has it, 'a long lane that has no turning.' We must trust, my dear sir, to the chapter of accidents."

"Oh, Mr. Runnington!" interrupted Aubrey, with animation, "there is no such thing!—It is the order of Providence!"

They then entered into a long conversation; in the course of which—"If our fears—our worst fears—be confirmed," observed Runnington, "and they venture to put in suit these two notes—then they will have thrown down the gauntlet. I'll take it up—and there's no knowing what may happen when we come to close quarters. First and foremost, I'll tax away every farthing of the alleged 'balance' of their monstrous bill—ay, I'll stake my reputation on it, that I leave them not a shilling; but, on the contrary, prove that you have already greatly overpaid them."

"Alas! have I not, however, pledged myself to Mr. Gammon not to do so?" interrupted Aubrey.

"Pshaw!—Forgive me, but this is absurd. Indeed, Mr. Aubrey, it is really out-heroding Herod! All is fair against adversaries such as these! Besides, if you must be so scrupulous and fastidious—and I honor you for it—there's another way of putting it, which I fancy settles the matter. By Mr. Titmouse putting these bills in suit, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's promise to you is not performed—it is broken; and so there is an end of yours, which is dependent upon the performance of theirs."

"That is only on the supposition that they are playing me false—whereas the proceedings yesterday in court, especially when coupled with Mr. Gammon's letters to me"——

"All hollow! hollow!" replied Mr. Runnington, shaking his head.—"False and hypocritical! Who could trust to Gammon? This fellow Titmouse, whom they are doubtless fleecing daily, is, in all probability, desperately driven for ready money; and they have allowed him to get hold of these two bills, after a sham resistance on the part of Gammon, in order to call forward your friends to the rescue—that's their game, depend upon it!" Mr. Aubrey fired at the bare thought. "Yet I must own I am at a loss to discover what motive or object Mr. Gammon can have for going so far out of his way to secure your good opinion, or for wrapping himself in so impenetrable a disguise. He is a very, very deep devil, that Gammon; and, depend upon it, has some sinister purpose to effect, which you will by-and-by discover!" Mr. Aubrey then, for the first time, acquainted Mr. Runnington with Gammon's recent proposals to Miss Aubrey, at which Mr. Runnington seemed for some moments struck dumb with astonishment.

"I presume," at length said he, turning with a brief and sad smile towards Miss Aubrey, whose reddening cheek betokened the interest she felt in the conversation—"I presume, Miss Aubrey, there is no chance of our seeing you pass into—Mrs. Gammon?"

"I should rather think not, Mr. Runnington," she replied with sufficient loftiness of manner; "and I am quite at a loss, to conceive what could possibly have put such a thing into his head."

"Certainly, Mr. Runnington," said Aubrey, "I can undertake to say that my sister never gave him any encouragement."

"Encouragement?—Horrid man!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, with great vivacity. "I could never bear him—you know it, Charles—so do you, Agnes!" Mr. Runnington made no further observations on the subject, though his thoughts were very busy; he was satisfied that he was beginning to discover a clew to much of Gammon's conduct—for that that gentleman was acting with profound duplicity, Mr. Runnington entertained no doubt whatever; and he resolved to watch his every motion connected with Mr. Aubrey closely.

"What will be the earliest period;" inquired Mr. Aubrey, "at which Mr. Titmouse, if so disposed, can put in suit my bond given to the late Lady Stratton?"

"As soon as he has obtained the grant of letters of administration, which cannot take place till the end of fourteen days from her Ladyship's death—that being one difference, as you are aware, between the powers of an executor and an administrator." Mr. Aubrey sighed; and made no reply; while Mr. Runnington looked at him for some moments in silence, as if doubting whether to mention something which had occurred to him. At length—"Of course, Mr. Aubrey," he commenced, "one does not like to raise groundless hopes or fears; but, do you know, I am by no means free from doubts as to the reality of Lady Stratton's intestacy—whether the draft of her proposed will, brought to her by Mr. Parkinson, could not be admitted to probate. Very—very nice questions, as you must be aware, often arise out of cases like these! Since seeing you this morning, I have written off to Mr. Parkinson for full and accurate information on the point; and if I get a satisfactory answer, with your consent I will certainly lodge a caveat against the grant of titles of administration. That would indeed checkmate them! But I have very slight hopes indeed of receiving such an answer as one could wish," added Mr. Runnington, fearful of exciting fruitless expectations. Shortly afterwards, Miss Aubrey, who had appeared for some little time laboring under considerable excitement, addressing her brother, said with evident embarrassment—"Charles, I am very anxious to mention something that has occurred to me of a very singular nature—if you think I am at liberty to do so; and I shall first ask you and Mr. Runnington, whether, under the circumstances, you consider me entitled to disclose what I allude to."

"Kate, Kate!—what is this?—What do you mean? You quite alarm me!" inquired her brother, with an amazed air.

"Suppose Mr. Gammon, on the occasion of his calling upon me, which has been recently mentioned, volunteered a statement of a very, very extraordinary description—one that has ever since quite haunted me, day and night. Mind, Charles—I say that, in the first instance, he volunteered it, only expressing an earnest wish that I should mention it to no one; on which I said I should make no promise, but act as I might think proper; and after my saying this, he made the communication I allude to. Should I be at liberty," continued Miss Aubrey, eagerly and anxiously, "now to disclose what he told me? I am dying to do it, if I may, honorably."

"My dear Kate, I really fear you are wandering—that you are overcome with the sufferings you have gone through to-day," said her brother, tenderly, and with infinite concern.

"Indeed, Charles, I am not," she answered with great earnestness.

"Then I am of opinion that you may most certainly mention anything so communicated to you—I have no doubt, Kate."

"Nor I, Miss Aubrey," added Mr. Runnington, eagerly; "nay, I go farther—with a man like him, I think it is your duty to disclose anything he may have said to you."

Miss Aubrey paused for a few moments, and then mentioned the singular circumstance with which the reader is already acquainted; namely, Mr. Gammon's distinct and solemn assurance to her, that he possessed the power of restoring her brother to the possession of Yatton; and that, too, by legal and honorable means; and that, if she would but promise to receive him as her suitor, he would pledge himself to replace them all at Yatton before claiming the performance of that promise.

Mr. Aubrey, Mrs. Aubrey, and Mr. Runnington, all listened to this strange story in silence, and gazed in astonishment at the beautiful and excited speaker.

"Forgive me, dear madam," said Mr. Runnington, at length, exchanging an incredulous glance with her brother, "if I—I—express a doubt whether you may not be laboring under a complete misconception"——

"'T is impossible, Kate!" added her brother; but he knew, at the same time, his sister's strong sense; and all doubt vanished both from his mind and that of Mr. Runnington on her calmly and distinctly repeating what she had just said—giving even the very expressions made use of by Mr. Gammon, and which, she said, they might easily believe had made a very deep impression on her mind.

"It's inconceivable!" exclaimed her brother, after a long pause.

"It's an audacious and cruel falsehood, in my opinion," said Mr. Runnington: and all again were silent. Then he hastily ran his mind's eye over the main points in the late proceedings by which Mr. Aubrey had been ejected from Yatton. "Either," he continued after a pause, "he is a gross liar, or is laboring under insanity—or there has been shocking, atrocious villany practised against you. If he be in his senses, and be speaking the truth—gracious Heaven! he must have brought forward a series of perjured witnesses at the trial."

"Did he drop any hint, Kate, as to the means by which he could bring about such a result?" inquired her brother, after a long pause, during which he too had been, like Mr. Runnington, reflecting on the course of proof by which the case of Titmouse had been supported.

"No—not the remotest; of that I am certain. I observed that particularly; though shortly afterwards, I was so overcome by what he had said, and also by the manner in which he said it, that I fainted. Mr. Gammon must have carried me to the sofa; for when I revived, I was lying there—though, when I felt myself losing my consciousness, I was standing near the window, which I had risen to open."

"It's the most amazing thing I ever heard in my life, I protest!" exclaimed Mr. Runnington, thoughtfully; while Mr. Aubrey rose from his chair, and walked a few steps to and fro, obviously laboring under much excitement.

"Kate, Kate!" said he, rather vehemently, "you should have told me this the instant that you next saw me!"

"For Heaven's sake, be calm, dearest Charles!" cried Mrs. Aubrey, herself not a little agitated by the extraordinary intelligence just communicated by Kate, for the first time, even to her. Poor Kate, on seeing the way in which her communication had been received, heartily regretted having mentioned the matter.

"This will require very great consideration, Mr. Aubrey, to know how to deal with it, and with Gammon," said Mr. Runnington. "I am inclined to think, at present, that he would hardly have ventured upon so outrageous a piece of folly, as making such a representation as this, had there been no foundation for it in fact; and yet, I am quite astonished that a man so acute, so signally self-possessed, should have so committed himself—he must have been under some great excitement at the moment."

"He certainly was, or at least seemed, a good deal agitated while he was with me," quoth Kate, coloring a little.

"That is highly probable, Miss Aubrey," replied Mr. Runnington, with a faint smile. "It must have appeared to him as one of the most likely occurrences, that Miss Aubrey should mention to you, Mr. Aubrey, so extraordinary a circumstance! It is very, very difficult to imagine Mr. Gammon thrown off his guard on any occasion." Then ensued an anxious and prolonged conversation on the subject, in which many conjectures were made, but without leading to any satisfactory issue. Quite a new light, however, seemed now thrown upon all his past acts, and the whole tenor of his conduct. They read over his last two notes with new and deep interest, on the supposition that while writing them, he was conscious of possessing the power which he had represented. All was mystery. Then was discussed the question, as to the propriety of either Mr. Runnington or Mr. Aubrey applying to Mr. Gammon upon the subject—a step which was, however, postponed for future and more mature consideration. Another thing suggested itself to Mr. Aubrey, but he kept it to himself:—should he forthwith apprise Mr. Gammon of the fact that Kate was absolutely engaged to Mr. Delamere, and so at once and forever extinguish all hope on the part of Mr. Gammon?

The evening, however, was now advancing, and Mr. Runnington pressed upon Mr. Aubrey the object which he had chiefly had in view in calling—viz. to prevail on Mrs. Aubrey and himself to accompany him immediately to his country house, which lay in the direction of Richmond, at about six miles' distance from town; and where, for a brief interval, they might enjoy a respite from the frightful suspense and danger to which they were at present exposed in Vivian Street. Mrs. Aubrey and Kate most earnestly seconded the kind importunities of Mr. Runnington; and after considerable hesitation Mr. Aubrey consented. It was accordingly arranged that, Mr. Runnington's carriage not being in town, he should return, within an hour, with a glass-coach; and that, during the ensuing day, Mrs. Runnington should drive to town for the purpose of bringing back with her Miss Aubrey, and little Charles and Agnes. This having been determined upon, Mr. Runnington quitted them, promising to return within an hour, when he hoped to find them ready to start, and equipped for a several days' sojourn. As soon as he had left the house, Mr. Aubrey's scruples began to revive; it appeared to him, that though it might be for a short time only, still it was, in effect, an absconding from his creditors: and there is no knowing but that his fastidious misgivings, his delicate sense of rectitude, might have led him after all to send off Mrs. Aubrey alone, when, poor soul! he was spared the trial by an incident which occurred about half an hour after Mr. Runnington's departure. Mrs. Aubrey was sitting in the parlor in travelling dress, fondling little Agnes, and talking earnestly to Kate about the management of the two children, and other matters; while Mr. Aubrey, also ready to start, was in the study selecting a book or two to take with him, when a heavy single knock at the door, unaccompanied by the sound of coach-wheels, nearly paralyzed all three of them. Suffice it to say, that within a few minutes' time the wretched and almost heart-broken Aubrey was a second time in custody, and at the suit of Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq., M. P., for the principal sum of ten thousand pounds, and interest for twelve months, at the rate of five pounds per centum per annum. The agonizing scene which ensued I shall leave entirely to the reader's imagination—observing only, that the two minions of the law into whose hands Aubrey had now fallen, seemed totally indifferent to the anguish they witnessed. The chief was a well-known sheriff's officer—one Vice; short, fat, bloated; deeply pitted with the small-pox; close-cut black hair, almost as coarse as that of a hog; while the expression of his features was at once callous and insolent. Aubrey perceived at a glance that he had no consideration or mercy to expect at the hands of such a man as this; and the follower very much resembled his master.

"You're my prisoner, sir," said Vice, walking up to Aubrey, and with an air of matter-of-fact brutality taking hold of his collar with one hand, while in the other he held out his warrant. "If you like to clap a great-coat on, as it's getting late, you may; but the sooner you're off out of the way of all this here noise, the better—I should say."

"For God's sake wait for a few minutes—I have a friend coming," said Aubrey, his wife clinging to his arm.

"D——d if I wait a moment, that's flat!" quoth Vice, glancing at the two boxes in the passage, and guessing from them, and the travelling dress of Mrs. Aubrey, that he had arrived just in the very nick of time to prevent an escape.

"For the love of Heaven, stay only five minutes!" cried Kate, passionately wringing her hands—but she might as well have addressed a blacksmith's anvil as either of the men who were now masters of her doomed brother's person.

"'Tis useless, Kate—'tis in vain, my love!" said he, with a melancholy air; and turning to Vice, who, with his companion, stood at only a few inches' distance from him—"perhaps you will allow me to write down the address of the place you are taking me to?" he inquired somewhat sternly.

"Write away then, and make haste; for, write or not write, you're off in two minutes' time!"

Mr. Aubrey hastily wrote down in pencil, for Mr. Runnington, "Vice—Squeezum Court, Carey Street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields;" and then, having hastily drawn on his great-coat, without taking with him even a change of linen, (for Vice would seem to have got the idea of a rescue into his head, and was, besides, anxious to run not the least risk with a ten thousand pounds' debtor), tore himself from the frenzied embrace of his wife and sister, and quitted the house. Vice had refused even to let his man go in quest of a hackney-coach, or to wait while Fanny ran for one; and the moment they had got into the street, the cries of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate yet ringing in Mr. Aubrey's ears, Vice put his arm with rough familiarity into that of Mr. Aubrey, directing his follower to do the same; and in this style they hurried Mr. Aubrey along the whole of the distance between Vivian Street and Squeezum Court; he uttering not one single word—but his heart almost bursting. Vice had received his instructions from Mr. Spitfire, who was a very dashing practitioner; and perfectly well knowing the value of every day towards the close of term, had got his affidavit of debt prepared and ready sworn, and everything in readiness, even before the rule had been made absolute against Mr. Gammon. As the two captors and their prize—a gentleman between two ruffians—passed at a smart pace along the streets, they attracted considerable attention; now and then, even a little crowd would follow them for half the length of the street. Once Mr. Aubrey caught the words—"Poor fellow! Forgery, no doubt—he's a dead man in a month!"[11]

Vice's lock-up was, though similar in its general appearance, yet of a much inferior description to that of Grab. It was smaller and meaner. They reached it a little after eight o'clock.

"Are you for the parlor, or the common room?" inquired Vice, as soon as they had entered the house.

"Which you please," replied Aubrey, quickly and gloomily.

"P'r'aps you 'd better show the gemman up-stairs," said the follower, hesitatingly, to his master.

"You pay extra up-stairs," quoth Vice; "which shall it be?"

"I have no money, sir, to spare—I know the extortionating practices which "——

"Oh, come along then!" replied Vice, insolently; and in a minute or two Mr. Aubrey found himself in a tolerably large, but low room, at the back of the house, lit by three or four candles. There were some ten or twelve persons in it, who were smoking, drinking, reading the newspapers, playing at cards, dice, pitchfarthing, and so forth. All seemed in good spirits, and suspended for a moment their various occupations to scrutinize the newcomer—on whom the door was in a twinkling closed and locked.

"Now, sir, just in time to cut in," said a thin pale man—his breath redolent of the stench of gin—stepping briskly up to him from a table at which he and two others had just begun to play a rubber. "Now, sir," he continued in a confident tone, running the edges of the cards rapidly through his fingers with the air of an adept, and then proffering the pack to Mr. Aubrey.

"I do not play," replied Aubrey, in a low tone.

"Better take a card—drive dull care away; you'll be devilish dull here without play of some sort!"

"I do not play, sir—I certainly shall not," repeated Mr. Aubrey, somewhat peremptorily.

"Only half-crown points—can't hurt you," he continued flippantly; till Mr. Aubrey walked from him with an air of disgust towards another part of the room.

"You're a liar!" said one of two men playing at drafts to the other, a dispute having arisen about the game, as Mr. Aubrey passed them.

"You're a cheat!" was the answer; on which the man so addressed suddenly and violently flung a half-empty tumbler of brandy and water at the other; it took effect on the forehead of his companion, who fell stunned from his chair, his forehead, which had been cut open, bleeding profusely. On this there was a general rush towards the spot. In the midst of this sickening scene the door was opened by Vice.

"Hollo—what's the matter?" said he, locking the door after him, and coming up to the group round the fallen and miserable man who had been struck.

"Who did it?" cried he, fiercely, on catching sight of the prostrate man.

"I did," answered the perpetrator of the outrage, "he called me a cheat."

"You did!" quoth Vice, suddenly grasping him by the collar, as with the hand of a giant, and forcing him, despite his struggling, down to the floor, when he put one knee on his breast, and then shook him till he began to get black in the face.

"D—n it, Vice, don't murder him!" cried one of the bystanders—all of whom seemed disposed to interfere; but at this point, the man who had been struck, and had been lying for some minutes motionless, suddenly began to dash about his arms and legs convulsively—for he had fallen into a fit of epilepsy. The attention of all present was now absorbed by this one dreadful figure; and the man whom Vice had quitted, rose flushed and breathless from the floor, and looked with a face of horror upon the victim of his ungovernable passions.

"I must get a doctor," quoth Vice, "presently," approaching the door; and in passing Mr. Aubrey, who sat down looking exceedingly agitated—"Oh—here you are!" said he: "come along with me."

"I hope this poor man will be properly attended to"——interposed Mr. Aubrey, very anxiously.

"That's my look-out, not yours," replied Vice, rudely—"come you along with me!" and, unlocking the door, he motioned out Mr. Aubrey, and after sending off a man for a surgeon, led Mr. Aubrey into a kind of office—where he was instantly clasped by the hands by Mr. Runnington, who had been there some five minutes. He looked like an angel in the eyes of Mr. Aubrey, who returned his cordial pressure with convulsive energy, but in silence, for his shocked and overcharged feelings forbade him utterance. Mr. Runnington looked both annoyed and distressed—for Vice had refused to discharge his prisoner on Mr. Runnington's undertaking, telling him the sum was a trifle too large for running any risk; and, in short, he peremptorily refused to do it without a written authority from the under-sheriff; and added, he knew it was useless for Mr. Runnington to make the application—for they had only a few months before been "let in" for eight hundred pounds in that same way—so that Mr. Runnington had better, said Vice, be looking after a good bail-bond. In a word, Vice was inexorable; and a hint of the possibility of Mr. Aubrey's flight to the Continent, dropped by Mr. Spitfire to the under-sheriff, had caused that functionary to advise Vice "to look sharp after his bird."

"At all events let Mr. Aubrey be shown into your parlor, Vice," said Mr. Runnington, "and I will settle with you when I return. I am just going to the office, to see what I can do with Mr. Ridley."

"It's no manner of use; and besides, it's ten to one you don't catch him—he's gone to Clapham by this time," said Vice, looking up at the dusky Dutch clock over the fireplace. But Mr. Runnington was not to be so easily discouraged, and started off on his friendly errand; on which Vice led Mr. Aubrey up-stairs into his "parlor," telling him, as they went along, that there were only two other "gentlemen" there, and so "them three could make it comfortable to one another, if they liked." Vice added, that as he had only one double-bedded room at liberty, they must agree among themselves which should sleep on the sofa—or perhaps take it by turns.

On entering the parlor two figures were visible; one that of a tall, pale, emaciated, gentlemanly person of about forty, who lay on the sofa languidly smoking a cigar, more apparently to assuage pain than for the purpose of mere enjoyment. The other was a portly gray-haired man, apparently about fifty, and also of gentlemanly appearance. He was standing with his back to the fireplace—one hand thrust into his waistcoat, and the other holding a tumbler, which he raised to his lips as Vice entered, and having drained it, requested him to replenish it. 'T was the third tumbler of strong brandy and water which he had despatched that evening; and his restless and excited eye, and voluble utterance, testified to the influence of what he had been drinking. On Vice's retiring, this gentleman began to address Mr. Aubrey in a rapid and somewhat incoherent strain—telling him of the "accident" which had that morning befallen him; for that Vice had laid his rough hand upon him just as he was embarking in an Indiaman, off Blackwall, to bid farewell to this "cursed country" forever. This man had been a great merchant in the city; and, for a series of years, universally respected. He had married a fashionable wife; and their ambition and absurd extravagance, combined with losses unquestionably originating in a want of confidence on the part of his mercantile connections, occasioned solely by his ostentation, irregularities, and inattention to business, drove him to gambling speculations. Unfortunate there, he took to courses of downright dishonesty; availing himself of his character and power as trustee, executor, and otherwise, to draw out of the funds, from time to time, very large sums of money, to the utter ruin of some twenty or thirty unfortunate families, whose deceased relatives had quitted life with implicit confidence in his integrity. The guilty splendor thus secured him lasted for some few years, when an accident set him suddenly wrong;—a beautiful girl, for whom he was sole trustee, and every farthing of whose fortune he had appropriated to his own purposes, applied to him for the immediate settlement of her property. The next morning he had stopped payment; Mincing Lane was in a ferment—astonishment prevailed at the Exchange. Who could have thought it! said everybody. He was nowhere to be seen or heard of—but at length intelligence of his movements having been obtained by one of his numerous distracted victims, led to his apprehension in the way which has been already mentioned. Of all this, Mr. Aubrey, of course, could know nothing—but, nevertheless, he was somewhat struck with the man's countenance and manner; but with what awful interest would Mr. Aubrey have regarded him, had he known that the miserable being before him had determined upon self-destruction—and that within two days' time he would actually accomplish his frightful purpose!—For he was found in bed, a ghastly object, with his head almost severed from his body.

In the other—a ruined rouÉ—Mr. Aubrey was infinitely shocked at presently recognizing the features of one whom he had slightly known at Oxford. This was a member of an ancient and honorable family, and born to a princely fortune, which he had totally dissipated in every conceivable mode of extravagance and profligacy, both at home and abroad, and moreover, in doing so, had also ruined his constitution. He had taken honors at Oxford, and was expected to have been very eminent in Parliament. But at college his tendency to profligacy rapidly developed itself. He became notorious for his debaucheries, and made ostentation of his infidelity. He had returned from France only a few days before, in an advanced stage of consumption; and having been pounced upon by one of his numerous infuriate creditors, hither he had been brought the evening before—and would be the next morning lodged in the Fleet, as he could procure no bail; and there he might, possibly, live till he could apply to take the benefit of the insolvent act. If he should be successful in this last stroke, he could not possibly survive it beyond a few weeks! And he had nothing then to look forward to, but a pauper's burial.—He at length recognized Mr. Aubrey; and raising himself up on the sofa, extended his wasted hand to his fellow-collegian, who shook it kindly—much shocked at his appearance. What a marvellous difference was there between the characters of these two men!

After about half an hour's absence, Mr. Runnington returned, much dispirited. Mr. Ridley was not to be found; and, consequently, Mr. Aubrey must remain in his wretched quarters all night, and till probably an advanced period of the ensuing day—till, in short, Mr. Runnington should have obtained responsible sureties for his putting in bail to the action. Having whispered a few words to Mr. Aubrey in the adjoining room, and slipped a five-pound note into his hand, Mr. Runnington took his leave, pledging himself to lose not one moment in procuring his release; and charged with innumerable fond expressions to Mrs. Aubrey, to Kate, and to his children—to whom Mr. Runnington promised to go that night. "This is almost the bitterest moment of my life," faltered poor Aubrey; "it is very hard to bear!" and he wrung Mr. Runnington's hand—that gentleman being almost as much affected as his truly unfortunate client; who, however, on being left by Mr. Runnington, felt grateful indeed to the Almighty for so powerful and valuable a friend.

Neither Mr. Aubrey nor Mr. Somerville—that was the name of his early acquaintance—quitted the sitting-room during the whole of the night; but as their companion retired early to the adjoining apartment, and immediately fell into heavy sleep, they at length entered into conversation together—conversation of a melancholy, but deeply interesting, and I may even add instructive character. Mr. Aubrey's notes of it are by me; but I will not risk fatiguing the indulgent reader's attention. When the chill gray morning broke, it found the two prisoners still earnestly talking together; but, shortly afterwards, nature yielded, and they both fell asleep—Mr. Aubrey with an humble and fervent inward prayer, commending those dear beings who were absent to the protection of Heaven, and imploring it also for himself.

Immediately on quitting Mr. Aubrey, Mr. Runnington, according to his promise, went direct to Vivian Street, and the scene which he had endeavored to prepare himself for encountering, on their finding him return unaccompanied by Mr. Aubrey, was indeed most overpowering to his feelings, and heart-rending. Alas! how confidently had they reckoned upon an issue similar to that which had so happily occurred in the morning!—'Twas the first time—the very first time—since their troubles, that Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey had been separated for one single night. And he was now the inmate of a prison! Mrs. Aubrey and Kate sat up the livelong night—one memorable and miserable to them—counting hour after hour, whose flight was announced by the neighboring church clock. Their eyes were swollen with weeping, and their throbbing temples ached, as, at the first glimpse of dull daybreak, they drew aside the parlor curtain and threw open the window. They were, indeed, with some of old, weary of watching.

About mid-day, thanks to the energetic friendship of Mr. Runnington, and the promptitude of those whose names had been given to him by Mr. Aubrey, he made his appearance in Vivian Street. He saw Mrs. Aubrey and Kate as he passed, sitting at the window, anxiously on the look-out. They also saw him—sprang to the door—and opening it while he was in the act of knocking, they were instantly locked in each other's embrace. He looked pale and harassed, certainly; but 'twas he, the beloved husband and brother—Providence had permitted them once more to meet! All their recent pangs were for a moment forgotten and drowned in the overflowing joy of such a reunion. He was already sufficiently subdued; but when he heard the footsteps of his children pattering rapidly down-stairs—and heard their little voices continually, and in eager accents, exclaiming, "Papa!—my papa!—where is papa?"—and when they ran up to him, and he felt their little arms round his neck—then he was overpowered—his lip quivered convulsively, and he could not refrain from bursting into tears. Oh, 'twas HOME, poor oppressed soul!—after all—to which Providence had permitted him to return, and where he saw himself suddenly surrounded by those precious objects of his undivided and unutterable love! Indeed, he was thankful; his heart—all their hearts—overflowed with gratitude. Towards the evening, they received a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Neville, who were infinitely shocked on hearing of the events of the last few days, and of which they had not had the slightest intimation, living, as they did, at so great a distance, and not having seen their friends the Aubreys for several weeks. Poor souls! they also had their troubles—'twas wonderful how they contrived to exist upon the paltry pittance obtained by his ministerial duties; but they came ever with cheerfulness—unaffected and refreshing cheerfulness; they never uttered a murmur at the thorny desert which life seemed destined to prove to them, but had always a comfortable word for their weary fellow-pilgrims. What a happy evening they passed together! Poor Neville was in high spirits; for an article of his, full of profound research and delicate criticism, which had cost him a great deal of labor to prepare, had at length been accepted by the editor of a classical and ecclesiastical Review, who had forwarded to him a check for ten guineas. Mr. Aubrey could scarce refrain from tears, when his simple-minded and generous friend pressed upon him the acceptance of, at least, the half of these, the unexpected proceeds of his severe and ill-requited toil. While they were thus sitting together, in eager and delightful conversation, there came a knock to the door, which, as may be easily believed, a little disturbed them all; but it proved to be a gentleman who asked for Miss Aubrey; and on her requesting him to come forward, who should it be but the "gentleman" of my Lord De la Zouch; and while the color mounted into her cheek, and her heart fluttered, he placed in her hands a packet, which had just arrived from the Continent.

They all insisted on having it opened then and there; and in a few minutes' time, behold! their eager admiring eyes were feasted by the sight of a most superb diamond necklace—and at the bottom of the case was a small card—which Kate, blushing violently, thrust into her bosom, in spite of all Mrs. Aubrey's efforts. There was a long letter addressed to Mr. Aubrey from Lord De la Zouch, who, with Lady De la Zouch, had been for some weeks at Paris—and one from her Ladyship to Kate; and, from its bulky appearance, 'twas evident either that Lady De la Zouch must have written her a prodigiously long letter, or enclosed one to her from some one else. They saw Kate's uneasiness about this same letter, and considerately forbore to rally her upon it. Poor girl!—she burst into tears when she looked at the glittering trinket which had been presented to her—and reflected that its cost would probably be more than would suffice to support her brother and his family for years! Her heart yearned towards them, and she longed to convert her splendid present into a form that should minister to their necessities. While touching upon this part of my history—which I always approach with diffident reluctance, as matter too delicate to be handled before the public—I must nevertheless pause for a moment, and apprise the reader of one or two little circumstances, before returning to the main course of the narrative.

Mr. Delamere was at that moment at Rome, in the course of making the usual tour of Europe, and was not expected to return to England for some months—perhaps for a year. But before quitting England, he had laid close siege to our beautiful Kate; and had, indeed, obtained from her a promise, that if ever she became any one's wife, it should be his. That their engagement was sanctioned most cordially by Lord and Lady De la Zouch—two persons of as generous and noble a spirit as breathed in the world—must have been long ago abundantly manifest to the reader; and they did not the less appreciate the value of the prize secured by their son, because of the proud and delicate sense which Miss Aubrey manifested, of the peculiarly trying position in which she stood with relation to them. Kate's own notion upon the subject was somewhat indefinite; she having resolved not to listen to any proposal for a union with Delamere, until her unfortunate brother's affairs had assumed a more cheering and satisfactory aspect; and that might not be for some years to come. If she replied to the letter from Delamere, enclosed by Lady De la Zouch—and reply she must, to acknowledge his brilliant present—it would be the first letter she had ever written to him, which will account, in a measure, for her exquisite embarrassment. And although all of them kept up a correspondence with Lord and Lady De la Zouch, they never, from obvious considerations of honorable delicacy and pride, gave the slightest intimation of the dreadful pressure which they were beginning daily to experience. Lord De la Zouch remained under the impression that Mr. Aubrey was struggling, it might be slowly, but still successfully, with his difficulties; and had made up his mind, when called upon, to pay, almost as a matter of course, the amount of the bond into which he had entered in Aubrey's behalf. As Aubrey desired evidently to maintain a reserve upon the subject of his private affairs, Lord De la Zouch, whatever might be his fears and suspicions, forbore to press his inquiries. How little, therefore, were either Lord and Lady De la Zouch, or their son, aware of the position in which their packet would find the Aubreys!

Within a few days, Mr. Runnington, by duly completing special bail in the two actions of Quirk and Others v. Aubrey, and Titmouse v. Aubrey, had relieved Mr. Aubrey from all grounds of immediate personal apprehension for several months to come—in fact, for at least half a year; and on quitting Vivian Street, one evening, after announcing this satisfactory result of his labors, he slipped into Mr. Aubrey's hand, as he took leave of him at the door, a letter, which he desired Mr. Aubrey to read, and if he thought it worth while, to answer—at his leisure. Guess the emotions of lively gratitude with which he perused the following:—

"Lincoln's Inn.

"My dear Sir,—You have once or twice, lately, been so kind as to express yourself obliged by the little professional services which I have recently rendered you in the ordinary course of practice. Permit me, in my turn, then, to ask a great favor of you; and, knowing your refined and exquisite sensibility, I make the request with some little apprehension, lest I should in any way wound it. I earnestly beg that you will accept a trifling loan of three hundred pounds, to be repaid as soon as you may be enabled to do so with perfect convenience to yourself. If, unhappily for yourself, that time should never arrive, believe me, you will not occasion me the slightest imaginable inconvenience; for a long and successful practice has made me, many years since, independent of my profession, and of the world; as will, I am confident, be the case with you, should Providence spare your life. I happen to have been aware that, but for recent occurrences, it was your intention, about this time, to have commenced a second year's study, with either Mr. Crystal, or Mr. Mansfield the conveyancer.

You will now, I trust, carry your intention into effect, without delay. I should venture to suggest, that at this period of the year, when the gentlemen of the common-law bar quit town for the circuit, (as will be the case within a few weeks with Mr. Crystal,) it would hardly answer your purpose to enter the chambers of a gentleman in that department; but that, as conveyancers remain very much longer in town, you will find it answer your purpose immediately to enter the chambers of Mr. Mansfield, and reoccupy your mind with those invigorating and invaluable studies in which you have already made, as I hear, so great a progress; and which will serve to divert your thoughts from those wretched objects on which otherwise they will be too apt to dwell.

"You will find that I have this day paid in to your credit, at your bankers, the sum of £300. And believe me to remain, my dear sir—Ever your most sincere and faithful friend,

"C. Runnington.

"P. S.—Do not give yourself one moment's concern about the expense of the recent proceedings, which is, I assure you, very trifling."

Mr. Aubrey read this letter with heartfelt gratitude; and permitted no morbid fastidiousness to interfere with his determination to avail himself of the generous and opportune assistance of Mr. Runnington; resolving, moreover, to profit by his very judicious suggestions as to the course of his study, and to commence, as soon as possible, his attendance at the chambers of Mr. Mansfield. Thus suddenly relieved, for a considerable and a definite interval, from the tremendous pressure to which he had been latterly subject, he, and indeed Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, experienced great buoyancy and exhilaration of spirits.

Could, however, their sense of tranquillity and security be otherwise than short-lived? What sort of a prospect was that before them? Terrifying and hopeless indeed. As daily melted away the precious interval between the present time and the dreadful month of November—midst whose gloomy haze was visible to his shuddering eyes the dismal porch of a prison, where he must be either immured for his life, or its greater portion, or avail himself of the bitter ignominious immunity afforded by the insolvent laws—the hearts of all of them sank to their former depth of oppression. Still, resolved to work while it was day, he addressed himself to his studies with redoubled energy, and of course made proportionate advances. But all this suffering—all this exertion, mental and physical—began to leave visible traces in his worn and emaciated appearance; and I grieve to add, that the same cause not a little impaired the beauty and injured the spirits of the devoted and incomparable women whom Heaven had given to him, like angels, for his companions.

Such being the footing upon which matters stood between Mr. Delamere and Kate Aubrey, what chance had Mr. Gammon of obtaining the bright object upon which he had set his dark and baleful eye, and to secure which he was racking his brain, and devising such intricate schemes of deliberate and cruel villany? As well might he have sighed after the planet Venus—sweet star of eve!—as sought to grasp Kate Aubrey within his arms!—Yet full before his mind's eye stood ever her image—though one would have thought that there was sufficient in his own circumstances to occupy every spare thought and feeling. Suppose the action for the bribery penalties should go against him, and he should be at once fixed with a liability for some five thousand pounds, including debt and costs? And more than that sum he had recently lost in a speculation in foreign stock, besides standing in a very precarious position with respect to certain of the many speculations in which he had launched both himself and others. Under these circumstances, it became hourly of greater importance to him to secure the annuity of £2,000 on the Yatton property, which he had with such difficulty extorted from Titmouse. He resolved, moreover, to try the experiment of raising money on the bond of Lord De la Zouch; and it also occurred to him, as possible, that even if he should fail in the main object which he had proposed to himself, in his artful and oppressive proceedings against Aubrey, yet they might be the means of bringing forward friends to extricate him from his difficulties, by discharging the sums for which he was liable. It was, therefore, not till he had set into train the various matters which have been laid before the reader, that he set off on a hurried visit to Yorkshire, in order to ascertain the state of Lady Stratton's affairs; to make arrangements for collecting the evidence against the impending trials for bribery; and carry into effect some preliminary measures for augmenting the whole of the Yatton rent-roll, by nearly £2,000 a-year. His first interview with Mr. Parkinson apprised him distinctly of the exceedingly precarious nature of the alleged intestacy of Lady Stratton. Good Mr. Parkinson was no match for Mr. Gammon, but would have been much more nearly so if he could have done but one thing—held his tongue: but he was a good-natured, easy-tempered chatterer, and Gammon always extracted from him, in a few moments, whatever he knew upon any subject. 'T was thus that he succeeded in obtaining conclusive evidence of the intestacy; for Gammon discovered that the unexecuted draft of the intended will had never been seen by Lady Stratton, or read over to her; but had been drawn up by Mr. Parkinson himself, a day or two after receiving her Ladyship's instructions;—that those instructions, moreover, had been merely oral.

"It is one of the most melancholy cases I ever met with!" exclaimed Gammon, with a sigh. "I suppose the reverses of the Aubrey family frequently formed a subject of her Ladyship's conversation?"

"Oh, she has talked with me for hours together—and even very shortly before her last illness!"

"It is, methinks, enough to raise the poor old lady from her grave, to find so much of her property diverted thus to one who does not want it, and who was a total stranger!"

"Ay, it is indeed!"

"I am a little surprised, to tell you the truth, that, under the circumstances, her Ladyship should not have thought of at least sharing the policy between Miss Aubrey and Mr."——

"I do assure you that that is the very thing I have heard her several times talking about lately!"

"That will do," thought his wily companion; "thank God she's clearly intestate, then, for Parkinson's draft does not contain her last will and testament—that will do—thank you, my honest friend!" This was what was passing through Gammon's mind, while a sympathizing expression was upon his face, and he shook his head, and deplored the untoward event which had happened, in very pathetic terms indeed. On quitting Mr. Parkinson, Gammon thus pursued the train of his thoughts:—

"What if I should allow this paper to be admitted to probate? Let me see—It will give Miss Aubrey some fifteen thousand pounds:—or one might take out administration in favor of Titmouse, and then suggest to her that I had the means of nullifying the proceedings, and carrying into effect Lady Stratton's intentions—for the Letters may be repealed at any time.—Stay, however. It is by no means impossible, that when Parkinson comes to communicate with Aubrey, or that deep old fellow Runnington, they may think of lodging a caveat against our letters of administration: but they'll fail—for Parkinson must speak conclusively on that point. So, perhaps, the better way will be, to take out administration in the usual way, and see what they will do.—Then, there's Aubrey's bond—poor devil!—is it not unfortunate for him?—But that shall be reserved; let us see the effect of our other movements, first."

When Mr. Gammon returned to Yatton from the late Lady Stratton's residence, he found several letters awaiting his arrival. One was from Mr. Quirk—poor muddle-headed old soul!—all went wrong with him, the moment that he missed Gammon from beside him. He wrote letters every day, which were a faithful type of the confusion prevailing in his thoughts; for though he was "up to" the ordinary criminal business of the office, in which he had had some forty years' experience, their general business had latterly become so extended, and, to Quirk, complicated, that his head, as it were, spun round from morning to night, and all he could do was to put himself, and everybody about him, into a bustle and fever. So he told Gammon, in his last letter, that everything was going wrong, and would do so till "good friend Gammon returned:" and, moreover, the old gentleman complained that Snap was getting very careless and irregular in his attendance—and, in fact, he—Quirk—had something very particular to say to Gammon, when they met, about the aforesaid Snap!—- About this the reader shall hear in due time. Then came a letter from the Earl of Dreddlington, marked "private and confidential" containing a most important communication, to the effect that his Lordship had that day granted an audience to a scientific gentleman of great eminence, and particularly well skilled in geology; and he had satisfied the earl of a fact which the aforesaid scientific gentleman told his Lordship he had discovered after a very close geological survey of the superficial strata of the Isle of Dogs—viz. that at a very little depth from the surface, there ran, in parallel strata, rich beds of copper, lead, and coal, alternately, such as could not possibly fail of making a quick and enormous return. His Lordship, therefore, suggested the immediate formation of a company to purchase the Isle of Dogs, and work the mines!—and "begged to be favored with" Mr. Gammon's views on this subject, by return of post. In a postscript, his Lordship informed Gammon, that he had just parted with all his Golden Egg shares, at a considerable profit; and that the Gunpowder and Fresh Water Company's shares were rising daily, on account of the increasing probability of a universal war. Gammon did not think it worth while to send any answer to the communication of his senior partner; but wrote off a very polite and confidential letter to the earl, begging his Lordship would do him the honor of taking no steps in the matter till Mr. Gammon could wait upon his Lordship in town. This matter over, Gammon wrote off another to the secretary of the Vulture Insurance Company, giving them notice of the death of Lady Stratton, who was insured in their office in a policy to the amount of £15,000, to which, her Ladyship having died intestate, the writer's client, Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq., M.P. for Yatton, had become entitled as administrator—being her Ladyship's nearest next of kin:—that he intended to take out letters of administration forthwith; and formal evidence would be furnished to the Company, in due time, of the completion of his legal title to the policy.

But here—I am concerned to say—the skittish, frolicsome, and malicious jade, Fortune, after petting and fondling Titmouse, and overwhelming him with her favors, suddenly turned round and hit him a severe slap in the face, without the least provocation on his part, or rhyme or reason on hers. And it happened in this wise. Dapper Smug, Esq., the secretary of the Vulture, wrote by return of post, saying that he had laid Mr. Gammon's letter before the directors; and that as soon as he should have learned their pleasure on the subject, he would write to Mr. Gammon again. And so he did—but only to request that gentleman to communicate with Messrs. Screw and Son, the Company's solicitors. This Mr. Gammon did, and in due time received a letter to the astounding purport and effect following—that is to say, that they had carefully considered the case, and regretted sincerely that they could not feel it their duty to recommend the directors to pay the policy!! The directors had a duty, sometimes—they would have it appear—a very painful one, to perform to the public; and in short—in plain English, they intended to resist the claim altogether! Gammon wrote in astonishment to know the grounds of their refusal; and at length discovered that that truly respectable Company considered themselves in possession of decisive evidence to show that the policy had been vitiated through the concealment, or rather the non-communication, of a material fact on the part of the late Lady Stratton—possibly unintentionally—viz. that she was, at the time of executing the policy, subject to the GOUT. Gammon made anxious inquiries of the servants, of Dr. Goddart, Mr. Parkinson, and of others, who expressed infinite astonishment, declaring that she had never once exhibited the slightest symptoms of the complaint. Messrs. Screw, however, were politely inflexible—they declared that they had the positive testimony of several witnesses, one of them an eminent physician, to the fact that, during the very week in which the policy had been executed, she had experienced an attack of gout which had confined her to the sofa for three days. [The simple fact was, that her Ladyship had about that time certainly been confined to the sofa, but merely from her heel having been galled a little by a tight shoe.] They, moreover, sent to Mr. Gammon the full name of the officer in whose name the Company was to be sued—the aforesaid Dapper Smug; and requested Mr. Gammon to forward process to them in the usual way. Gammon, on inquiry, learned the character of the Company, and almost gnashed his teeth in rage and despair!—So at it they went—Titmouse (Administrator) v. Smug. Then came a Declaration as long as my arm; Pleas to match it; then a Commission to examine witnesses abroad, principally a Dr. Podagra, who had settled in China; then a Bill of Discovery filed on behalf of the Company; a Cross Bill filed by Mr. Titmouse against the Company; a Demurrer to the one, Exceptions to the Answer, to the other.—Here, in short, was in truth "a very pretty quarrel." The stake was adequate; the Company rich; Mr. Titmouse eager; Gammon infuriate; and there was not the least chance of the thing being decided at all for three or four years to come; and poor Titmouse was thus not only kept out of a comfortable round sum of money, but obliged to carry on, all the while, an expensive and harassing litigation. So much for insuring with a Company which looks so sharply after the interests of its shareholders, in preference to those of the survivors of the dead insurers!—But as far as Titmouse and Gammon were concerned, it seemed a dead lock, and at a somewhat critical conjuncture too.