But Frank entertained no thoughts of returning to the scene of gaiety he had quitted on its very threshold. Stopping only to put a cigar in his mouth he turned, without a pang, from these "halls of dazzling light," to walk slowly away through a succession of dark streets, like a man in a dream.

"It's waiting for you!" Of course it was; and what a fool had he been not to inquire for his letters at the "Cauliflower" ere he dressed for dinner. She must have answered his proposal very quickly, he thought; couldn't have taken time to consult papa, nor any one else; must have made up her mind in a moment—women always did. Was this a good omen or not? At each alternate lamp-post he changed his opinion. Here he argued, she had jumped at the offer the instant it was made, loving him so dearly, and being so determined to marry him that it was needless to consult any one else on the subject; ten paces further on, he saw the other side of the question. If she meant to refuse him, it couldn't be done too quickly, and the less said about it the better. Such an answer would, of course, be sent by return of post; and, pre-occupied as he was, he found himself vaguely calculating the many deliveries of that valuable institution, speculating whether he could indeed have received her letter at his club, had he called for it so early as half-past seven o'clock.

Revolving this irrelevant consideration in his mind, Helen's beauty and confusion, as he saw her ten minutes ago, rose like a vision before his eyes, and he felt all joy and confidence once more. "Sure of winning!" he said out loud, with a puff of smoke into the hot, close night. "Cock-sure, my boy, as if you'd got the race in your pocket!"

In two more streets he would reach the "Cauliflower," and his heart leaped wildly to think of the dainty white missive, with its delicate superscription, even now awaiting him in the lobby of that caravanserai.

Quickening his pace, the sooner to end suspense, he came in sight of a figure lurching along the pavement some fifty yards ahead, with the gait of a man who, not in the least overcome by wine, is yet enough under its influence to walk more leisurely and with a more pretentious swing than usual.

He saw them by dozens every night of his life, and would have taken little notice of this convivial bird returning to roost, but that his attention was aroused by the scrutinising manner in which two men, by whom he was himself overtaken at a quick walk, looked under the brim of his hat as they passed by. Returning their stare, he observed they were an ill-favoured couple enough, and that one shook his head as if dissatisfied, crossing the street forthwith to join a third figure that stole out of the shade cast by the opposite houses. Whatever might be their object, all three seemed now to join eagerly in chase. Frank slackened sail to observe their movements, and was soon satisfied they were dogging the steps of the passenger ahead, who walked carelessly on in happy unconsciousness that he was watched or pursued.

These four, tracked and trackers, were pretty close together as they turned out of the main thoroughfare into a street, which several yards of high dead wall without lamps rendered one of the darkest in the West-End of London. Frank looked up and down for a policeman in vain. Not a soul was to be seen, and finding himself the only occupant of the pavement, he ran stealthily forward to the corner round which the others had lately disappeared, much mistrusting his assistance would be wanted without delay.

He was right. Already he could hear a scuffling of feet, a smothered oath, two or three blows exchanged, in short, sharp cracks like pistol-shots, while a hoarse voice muttered:

"Slip it into him, George! Would ye now? Take that—and that?"

Notwithstanding their numbers, however, the ruffians seemed to have a hard bargain of their prey. The latter, with his back to the dead wall, fought like a wild cat, but three to one make short work, and in a couple of minutes he was overpowered, and down on his knee. Had his head touched the pavement, it might never have risen again, but at this critical juncture in leaped Frank Vanguard, like an Apollo who had learned to box. One remarkably straight left-hander doubled up the smallest assailant like the kick of a horse, while another sent the next in size staggering into the middle of the road, where he thought well to remain for a space, grasping his jaw with both hands, and blaspheming hideously. The biggest villain, shouting "Bobbies!" with an execration, and expressing his intention to "hook it," took to his scrapers, as he called them, at once, and was speedily followed by his equally cowardly auxiliaries.

Frank looked wistfully after the assailants, while he lifted their victim to his feet, exclaiming, with the utmost surprise, "Why, it's Picard!" as the dim light enabled him to identify that gentleman, considerably mauled and dishevelled, yet apparently not very seriously hurt.

Bleeding and breathless, Picard's presence of mind seemed, however, not to have deserted him. Before thanking Vanguard he felt for a parcel of notes in his breast-pocket, and laughed as heartily as aching bones and heaving lungs would permit.

"They have missed 'the swag,'" said he, wiping his bloody face with a cambric handkerchief, "and it's worth collaring, I can tell you. It's always my maxim to stick by the stuff; but if it hadn't been for you, 'squire, I must have caved out this spell, I estimate. It would have been a pity, too," he added, relapsing into the English language as he cooled down, "for, bar one at Baltimore, two years back, it's the best night I ever had in my life. 'Pon my soul, Vanguard, I'm heartily obliged to you; and how you hit out! Why, that dirty, black-muzzled chap spun round as if he was shot."

"He's hurt my knuckles, the little beast!" said Frank, looking with much commiseration at certain abrasions on a white and bony hand. "But what have you been about, my dear fellow! and how did they know you'd got money? Were you at all screwed?"

"Sober as a judge!" answered Picard. "In fact, a deal soberer than some judges I've seen down West in my time! I've been playing billiards ever since eleven o'clock, making game after game off the balls in a form you'd hardly believe. The fact is, I caught a flat, who thought he was a sharp! First he lost his money, then his temper. Of course he played on to get back both. I didn't win so very easy, you know; indeed I had rather a squeak for it more than once; but I always managed to nail him in the last break. Then we got to double or quits, and I needn't tell you how that went. He'd a friend, too, from the country, what you Britishers call 'a yokel,' I suspect, who backed his man handsome and paid up like the Bank of England. I drew this sportsman to a lively tune, I can tell you. Altogether I landed a hatful, and not a drop would I have to drink till just before starting. I don't think they hocussed me; no, I've been hocussed before, and I know what it is. But their brandy was infernally strong, or the soda-water unaccountably weak, for somehow I felt so jolly I said I wouldn't have a cab, but walk home behind a weed.

"Now I think of it, there was a big, awkward-looking skunk loafing about the table most of the night, who never betted nor played, but seemed always on the watch, to see we didn't steal the chalk, as I supposed. I know better now. He sneaked out, I remarked, when I went for a cocktail. No doubt he watched me start off to walk, and followed with his pals. That's the gentleman who 'skedaddled' just now so freely when it came to a fight. Captain Vanguard, I say again, I'm infernally obliged to you!"

Frank, whose excitement had cooled down, was on thorns to receive his letter. "Have a cigar," said he, proffering his case. "I fear I can't do anything more for you now. I'll see you home, if you like, but I'm rather anxious to get to my club before they shut up. It's the 'Cauliflower,' you know. Almost in the next street."

"I live close by," exclaimed Picard. "We'll go together, and I hope you'll come and look me up at my rooms to-morrow. I've a few Yankee notions, and things I've got together knocking about Mexico and the States. They might amuse you, and I can give you a capital weed—nobody better; and you shall have the best I have, you shall! John Picard never yet forgot a good turn nor a bad one. You're the right sort, Captain, real grit; and you and me are mates for life. It's John Picard says so, and there's his hand upon it!"

Frank, who entertained a truly British horror of being thanked, would fain have escaped forthwith, but there was no avoiding the proffered hand; and it struck him also that his new friend reeled somewhat in his gait, talking the while more volubly and thicker than at first.

Resolving, therefore, to see him safely to his own door, and return as speedily as possible to the "Cauliflower," he grappled his companion firmly by the arm, and steered him without difficulty along the now deserted pavement.

A couple of heavy blows on the head, with a strong squeeze of the throat, had served, no doubt, to intensify the effect of such villanous brandy as Picard imbibed before leaving the billiard-room in which he had been so successful. He said as much, admitting a certain influence on his physical powers, but repudiating, with suspicious jealousy, the idea that hard knocks or alcohol could in any way affect his brain.

"My boots are a little screwed," he observed, contemplating them with a gentle forbearance, "but my legs are right enough, and so am I. John Picard isn't a man, sir, to be upset by a drop of corn-brandy, nor a hug from a loafer like that. I'd have whipped him into Devonshire cream if I'd had a clear stage. How many were there, now, according to your calculation? I tell ye fair, I was down (because these d—d boots chose to get drunk) before I'd time to count!"

"Only three," answered Frank, laughing, "and not a good man in the lot. They wouldn't have tried it on if we had been together; but your boots went so fast I couldn't catch them."

The other shook his head gravely. "Three," said he. "An' I hadn't even a tooth-pick."

"Tooth-pick!" repeated Frank in astonishment. "Lucky you hadn't—you'd have swallowed it!"

Picard being now arrived at that stage in which a man finds it impossible to make any statement, however trivial, without turning round and facing his companion, stopped short beneath a lamp-post, while he explained with great solemnity:

"A bowie-knife, about eighteen inches long, sharp on both sides, and weighted in the handle, is what we call a tooth-pick, young man, down Arkansas way. It's a neat tool—very—and balances beautiful. Some like them up the sleeve. I used to wear mine down the collar of my coat. That an' a six-shooter, if you're pretty spry, will clear the kitchen smart enough in a general row. Down to Colorado now, I'd have laid those three loafers in the larder before you could say 'bitters.' And to think that to-night I shouldn't have had so much as a pencil case on me! How old Abe Affable would laugh if he came to hear of it. Poor old Abe! The last time I saw him he wanted to scalp a nigger for blacking his boots instead of greasing them. Well, well; different countries, different manners, and different drinks, no doubt. I like this country, Captain. After all, I'm a citizen of the world, but more a Britisher than anything else."

"Are we near your house now?" asked Frank, whose impatience made him almost wish he had left this citizen of the world to his fate.

"Next lamp-post but two," replied the other, with an unmeaning laugh. "Boots know where they are now, I do believe—would find their own way to the scraper if I was to pull 'em off, I'll lay a hundred. Here you are, Captain, latch-key sober, at any rate. You won't come in? Well, perhaps it is late; good night, mate. One word before you cast off."

Poor Frank, chafing like an irritable horse at the starting-post, returned on his track, and Picard took hold of the lappet of his coat.

"I'll go back to Windsor with you," said he cordially. "I like Windsor, and I like you. I've reason to like both. Look here, Vanguard; there's something at Windsor that would have looked very queer if I'd been rubbed out just now; and I might have been, I don't deny it, but for you. Poor little chap, he's got nobody in the world but me! Perhaps that's why I'm so fond of him. I dare say Pharaoh's daughter thought there never was such a child as Moses when she pulled him out of the water. I know when I fished my boy out he put his chubby arms round my neck as if I'd been his father. Little rogue! I couldn't care more for him if he was my own, twenty times over.

"I'm a domestic fellow naturally, Vanguard, though I'm yarning to you now, under a lamp-post, at three in the morning. I've had a rough time of it, one way and another. Not always fair play, I fancy. Sometimes I think I'm the biggest blackguard unhung. Sometimes I hope I'm not so much worse than my neighbours."

Frank was thoroughly good-natured.

"We'll talk that over to-morrow," said he; "in the mean time, good night."

"Good night," repeated the other. "I know what I say, Vanguard," he called out after his friend, while putting his latch-key in the lock; "and to prove it, I'll show you, my boy!"

"He must be very drunk," thought Frank, speeding down the street like a deer, "and I'm glad I came across him in the nick of time—there would have been mischief if those fellows had got at him alone."

In another moment, palpitating and breathless, he was on the steps of the "Cauliflower" Club, where, passing swiftly into the hall, he espied Goldthred reading a letter by gaslight, with an expression of countenance that denoted he was profoundly mystified by its contents.

This gentleman, strolling in to quench his thirst after the glare, heat, worry, disappointment, and general penance of Lady Shuttlecock's ball, and running his eye as usual down the letter-rack, drew from the compartment "G" a laconic little epistle without signature, of which the second and third perusals bewildered him no less than the first:

"If you are really in earnest," so ran this mysterious document, "come to-morrow, there is somebody to be consulted besides me."

What could it mean? A lady's handwriting, to which he was an utter stranger. No name, no date, no monogram. "Come to-morrow," thought Goldthred. "Certainly! But where? And when is to-morrow? It's ten minutes past three now. Oh! this can't be intended for me!"

Then he turned it upside down, backwards and forwards, inside out. The envelope was addressed correctly enough, christian and surname in full, with even a flourish of calligraphy adorning his humble title of "Esquire." Many members of the "Cauliflower" would have pocketed the effusion without emotion, as a mere every-day conquest of some anonymous admirer, but such a suspicion never entered Goldthred's honest head. In his utter freedom from self-conceit, this note puzzled him exceedingly; but to have believed it due to his own powers of fascination, would, in his loyalty to Mrs. Lascelles, have annoyed him still more.

The same letter-rack, low down, under "V," produced another epistle in a similar handwriting, which Frank snatched with eagerness from its place and pressed hungrily to his lips, as he rushed back into the street, feeling a strange suffocating necessity on him to read it in the open air. Earning an epicurean prolongation of pleasure, which most of us indulge in, by deferring its actual commencement, he walked some few paces on his homeward way ere he tore open the envelope, with a blessing on his lips for the girl he loved, and something like tears of gratitude, affection, and happiness starting to his eyes.

These started back again, however, and clustered like icicles round his heart, while he read the following terse and explicit communication:

"Dear Sir,—I regret that a previous engagement will prevent my availing myself of your polite offer. I shall, of course, inform my father of your proposal when he returns.

"And remain,

"Yours sincerely,

"Helen Hallaton."

Frank clenched his fists and shut his teeth tight, for it hurt him. Hurt him very severely, though he scorned to wince or cry out, only smiling in anything but mirth, while he said aloud to the gas-lamps:

"I didn't think she was such a bad one! Miss Ross is worth a dozen of her. O Helen, how could you!"

Perhaps in all his life he never loved her better than now, while he swore nothing should induce him to see nor speak to her again.