The latter exclamation was occasioned by a joyous shout, announcing that

their friends had succeeded in opening the door; and the next moment the

good news was confirmed by Sir Bulkeley Price, who clambered over the

roof to acquaint them with it. On hearing this the party instantly beat

a retreat; and their flight was accelerated by the officer and the tall

grenadier, who at that moment sprung out of the window. Even Sir Norfolk

was urged to a little more expedition than usual; and two or three of

his mighty strides brought him to the top of the roof. Cardwell Firebras

would not have been much behind him, if Father Verselyn had not caught

hold of his coat-tails to help himself up the ascent, which he felt

wholly unable to accomplish without assistance. By this time the officer

was well-nigh upon them; and, finding his summons to surrender wholly

disregarded, he made a pass at the priest, which took effect in the

fleshy part of his leg, restoring him at once to more than his former

agility. Uttering a loud yell, and clapping his hand to the wounded limb

to stanch the blood, Father Verselyn bounded over the roof, and made

to the door through which the landlord and Mr. Travers had already

disappeared, and through which Mr. Cripps was now darting. Between the

two roofs lay a small flat space, used by its former proprietor as a

place for drying clothes, as was evident from the four tall posts at the

corners.

Here Firebras and Sir Norfolk came to a stand, resolved to dispute

the passage with their pursuers. Sword in hand, and calling to them

to surrender, the foremost officer dashed down the roof; but his

precipitation placed him at the mercy of Fire-bras; for his foot

slipping, the latter struck his sword from his grasp. Sir Norfolk, in

the interim, had encountered another foeman with equal success. This was

the tall grenadier, who, as he descended, made a thrust at the baronet

with his halberd, which the latter very adroitly parried, and, lunging

in return, disabled his adversary by a wound in the arm. At the same

moment, too, the tiles gave way under the weight of the grenadier, and

he sank above the knees in the roof. Other foes were now at hand. The

second officer, carrying a lantern in one hand, and a drawn sword in

the other, appeared on the roof; while the tall caps and bayonets of

the rest of the grenadiers were seen above it. Though Sir Norfolk, whose

blood was up, would have willingly awaited the advance of these new

opponents, he yielded to the entreaties of Firebras, and followed him

through the door, which was instantly secured behind them by a couple of

strong bolts.

The house in which the Jacobites had taken refuge was expressly hired by

them for an occasion like the present, and kept wholly uninhabited.

The mode of communication between it and the Rose and Crown will, it is

hoped, be sufficiently understood from the foregoing description. That

so many unforeseen accidents should have occurred at a time when, if

ever, things ought to have been in readiness, almost drove the

poor landlord distracted; but if he could have watched Mr. Cripps’s

manoeuvres, he would have speedily found out the cause of the delays.

In the first instance, a penknife, dexterously slipped by the valet into

the groove of the window, prevented it from moving, and had well-nigh,

as has been seen, occasioned the capture of the fugitives. This

difficulty having been overcome by the strenuous efforts of Sir Bulkeley

and Mr. Travers, Mr. Cripps was the first to scramble through the

window.

‘Which way?’ he cried to the landlord, who was following.

‘Over the roof, and to the door opposite,’ was the reply.

Nimbly as a cat the agile valet bounded over the roof, and instantly

perceiving the door, made towards it. A key was in the lock; he turned

it, took it out, and dropped it into the street below. He then began

to shake the door violently, and shouted to the landlord, who at that

moment came in sight.

‘Unlock it--unlock it!’ cried the host.

‘I can’t,’ cried Mr. Cripps; ‘there is no key. ‘Pon rep! we shall be all

taken.’

‘No key!’ exclaimed the landlord. ‘Impossible! I saw it there this

morning myself. It must have dropped down. Look about for it.’

Mr. Cripps feigned compliance, and the landlord coming up, poured forth

a torrent of imprecations on finding his statement correct. Father

Verselyn, as has been related, crept back to Firebras, while the others

used their efforts to open the door. Nor were they long in effecting

their purpose. Finding all other attempts fail, the landlord stepped

back on the leads, and running to give additional impetus to the blow,

dashed his foot against the door, and the lock yielded with a loud

crash.

[[[MR. CRIPPS ENCOUNTERING HIS MASTER IN MARYLEBONE GARDENS]]]

|Marylebone Gardens, it is well known, lay on the eastern side of the

upper end of the lane bearing the same name--the whole of the country

beyond Harley Street, which was not more than a third of its present

extent, being open fields. They were of considerable size, and were

originally laid out and planted at the beginning of the last century, at

which time the public were gratuitously admitted to them. In one part of

the grounds there was an excellent bowling-green, which drew many lovers

of that most agreeable recreation to it. By degrees the gardens,

being very conveniently situated, rose in repute; and in 1737, their

proprietor, Mr. Gough, began to demand a shilling for admittance--this

sum entitling the visitor to its value in refreshments. But still

further improvements were effected. Orchestras, boxes, and a theatre for

musical entertainments were erected within them. Besides the main walks,

semicircular rows of trees were planted, and hedges contrived so as to

form pleasing labyrinths for those who preferred privacy. Bowers and

alcoves were built in different places; lamps were fastened to the

trees, and at night, on the occasion of a fête, every part of the garden

was illuminated with myriads of lamps of various colours. The company

began to improve, and the price of admission was raised to five

shillings. Fêtes of every kind were held here; and the place continued

in vogue until nearly the end of the century with which its rise

commenced. Malcolm mentions that a few trees, once forming part of

Marylebone Gardens, were standing at the north end of Harley Street

in 1808. But we fear not even a stump of one of them is now left.

Carriages, coaches, and chairs were setting down their occupants at the

entrance to the gardens as Mr. Cripps and his companion drew near.

Never had Mrs. Nettle-ship seen a gayer throng--the dresses she thought

magnificent. There was Lady Ancaster, whom Mr. Cripps pointed out to

her, in a brocaded lutestring sack, with ruby-coloured ground and white

tobine stripes trimmed with floss--the Countess of Pomfret, in a black

satin sack flowered with red and white--Lady Almeria Vane, in a scarlet

unwatered tabby sack--Lady Ilchester, in a white tissue flowered sack.

All these ladies wore hoops; but none of them, Mr. Cripps assured his

companion, managed this equipment with half so much grace as herself.

Throughout this stage of the business, Mr. Cripps had some difficulty in

playing his part, and it required all his effrontery to enable him to

go through with it. Having affirmed to his companion that he was an

intimate acquaintance of all the ladies of rank he encountered, and

in the habit of attending their routs and parties, he was under the

necessity of sustaining the character, and kept constantly bowing and

kissing his hand to them. In most cases he succeeded; for the ladies

he addressed, deceived by his showy attire, which seemed to mark him as

somebody, returned his salutations. Mrs. Nettleship was enchanted. To be

attended by so fashionable a person, who knew all the _beau monde_, was

supreme felicity. She would have given the world to be introduced to

some of the fashionable ladies, and intimated as much to her companion;

but he was too shrewd to attend to the suggestion, contenting himself

with saying, with a very impassioned look, ‘I hope, my angel, that one

of these days I shall have the honour of introducing you to my fair

friends under another name.’Twould make me the happiest of men--‘pon

rep!’

‘Odd’s bodikins! Mr. Willars, how you do confuse me!’ exclaimed the

lady, spreading her large fan before her face.

By this time they had gained the principal avenue leading towards the

orchestra, and at each step he took, Mr. Cripps kissed his hand to some

elegantly dressed person.

‘There’s my friend Lord Effingham, and his countess,’ he said; ‘glad to

see you, my lord. That’s the pretty Mrs. Rackham--a bride, sweetheart,

_a bride_,’ with tender emphasis--‘that’s the rich Mrs. Draper--I

daren’t look at her, for she’s determined to have me, whether I will or

no, and I can’t make up my mind to it, though she’s promised to settle

sixty thousand pounds upon me, and to die in six months.’

‘La! Mr. Willars, you wouldn’t sell yourself to such an ojus creature

as that!’ cried Mrs. Nettleship--‘why, she’s a perfect fright, and so

dressed!’

‘Precisely what you describe her, ‘pon rep!’ replied Mr. Cripps. ‘But do

listen to the music. Isn’t it inspiring?’ And they paused for a moment

to listen to the lively strains proceeding from the orchestra, which was

placed at one end of a large building facing the principal walk. By

this time the company had almost entirely assembled. The main walk was

completely thronged, and presented the appearance of the Mall at

high tide, while all the boxes and alcoves were filled with persons

discussing bowls of punch, plates of ham, chickens, salads, and other

good things. The band in the orchestra was excellent, and the lively

airs and symphonies added to the excitement and spirit of the scene. Mr.

Cripps created a great sensation. Many persons thought they had seen him

before, but no one could tell who he was. Meanwhile, the object of this

attention continued to dispense his bows and smiles, flourished his

clouded cane, tapped his magnificent snuff-box, and after astonishing

all the beholders with his coxcombry, glided off with his companion into

one of the side walks. He had scarcely disappeared, when Lady Brabazon

and her party entered the main walk. Her ladyship led her little spaniel

by its string, and was attended on one side by the beau, and on the

other by Trussell. Behind them walked Clementina, who had contrived to

allure Randulph from her mother, and to attach him to her, while on

the young man’s left walked Sir Singleton Spinke. Everybody whom Mr.

Villiers encountered told him of the prodigious beau who had just been

seen on the walk--Lord Effingham, Major Burrowes, Lord Dyneover, Sir

John Fagg--all described him.

‘Who the devil is he?’ cried Villiers.

‘Haven’t the least idea,’ replied Sir John Fagg. ‘But I’ll speak to him,

if I meet him again. He’s your very double, Villiers. I’ll swear he has

employed Desmartins to make him a suit precisely like your own.’

‘Has he?’ cried the beau indignantly--‘Then I’ll never employ a rascally

Frenchman again! and what is more, I won’t pay him his bill.’ The

same thing was told him by twenty other persons, and the beau looked

anxiously round for his personator, but was for some time unable to

discern him.

Meanwhile, Mr. Cripps had sought this secluded walk to give him an

opportunity of making a declaration to the widow, and though he was not

positively accepted he was not decidedly refused,--the lady only asking

time to consider over the proposal. The audacious valet was on his

knees, and rapturously kissing her hand, vowing he would never rise till

he received a favourable answer to his suit, when two persons were

seen approaching, whom, to his infinite mortification and surprise, he

recognised as Abel Beechcroft and his uncle, Mr. Jukes.

‘We are interrupted, my charmer!’ he cried, getting up, with a

countenance of angry dismay. ‘Let us return to the public promenade. You

won’t refuse me? I shall kill myself, ‘pon rep, if you do.’

‘I’ll think of it, Mr. Willars,’ said Mrs. Nettleship, twirling her fan.

‘But it would be a dreadful thing if I was to break my engagement to Mr.

Rathbone!’

‘Oh! curse Mr. Rathbone! I’ll cut his throat!’ cried Mr. Cripps,

glancing anxiously down the walk. But unfortunately there was no outlet

at the lower end, and he was compelled to turn and face the intruders.

He looked also to the right and left, but on neither side was there

an alcove into which he could retreat. Nothing was left for it but

impudence, and luckily for him, this quality seldom deserted him at

a pinch. Putting on his boldest manner, he strutted gaily, and with

affected nonchalance, towards Abel and his uncle, who, as he advanced,

stepped a little aside to look at him.

[Illustration: 0330]

‘Why, as I live!’ cried Abel, ‘that’s Mr. Villiers’s valet--your nephew,

Jukes.’

‘Lord save us! so it is,’ cried Mr. Jukes, lifting up his hands in

astonishment. ‘Why, Crackenthorpe, what are you doing here--and in your

master’s clothes?’

‘Truce to your jests, old fellow,’ said Mr. Cripps, waving him off, ‘and

let me pass.’

‘What! disown your uncle!’ cried Mr. Jukes angrily, ‘and in the presence

of his worthy master! The rascal would deny his own father. Pay me the

ten crowns you borrowed yesterday.’

‘La! Mr. Willars, what’s the meaning of all this?’ asked Mrs. Nettleship.

‘Pon my soul, my angel, I don’t know, unless the old hunks has been

drinking,’ replied Mr. Cripps. ‘The ‘rack punch has evidently got into

his head, and made him mistake one person for another.’

‘’Rack punch!’ cried Mr. Jukes furiously. ‘I haven’t tasted a drop!

You call him Mr. Willars, ma’am,’ he added to Mrs. Nettleship.

‘He’s deceiving you, ma’am. He’s not Mr. Willars--he’s Mr. Willars’s

gentleman--his valet.’

‘A truce to this folly, you superannuated old dolt!’ cried Mr. Cripps,

raising his cane, ‘or I’ll chastise you.’

‘Chastise me!’ exclaimed the butler angrily. ‘Touch me, if you dare,

rascal; Crackenthorpe, Crackenthorpe--you’ll certainly be hanged.’

‘Let him alone, Jukes,’ interposed Abel. ‘He’ll meet his master at the

corner of the walk, and I should like to see how he’ll carry it off.’

Taking advantage of the interference, Mr. Cripps passed on with his

inamorata, who was as anxious to escape from the scene as himself; while

Abel and Mr. Jukes followed them at a short distance. It fell out as

Abel had foreseen. As Mr. Cripps issued into the broad walk, right

before him, and not many yards off, were his master and Lady Brabazon,

together with the rest of the party. If the valet ever had need of

assurance, it was now. But though ready to sink into the earth, he was

true to himself, and exhibited no outward signs of discomposure. On

the contrary, he drew forth his snuff-box, took a pinch in his airiest

manner, and said to Mrs. Nettleship--‘There’s Lady Brabazon--accounted

one of the finest women of the day, but upon my soul, she’s not to be

compared with you.’ With this he made a profound salutation to Lady

Brabazon, who looked petrified with astonishment, and kissed his hand to

Trussell, who was ready to die with laughing. As to the beau, he grasped

his cane in a manner that plainly betokened his intention of laying it

across his valet’s shoulders. But the latter, divining his intention,

and seeing that nothing but a bold manoeuvre could now save him,

strutted up to him, and said in a loud voice--‘Ah! my dear fellow--how

d’ye do?--glad to see you--plenty of company’--adding, in a lower

tone--‘for Heaven’s sake, sir, don’t mar my fortune. I’m about to

be married to that lady, sir--large fortune, sir--to-day will decide

it--‘pon rep!’

Mr. Villiers regarded him in astonishment, mixed with some little

admiration; and at length his good-nature got the better of his anger.

‘Well, get you gone instantly,’ he said; ‘if I find you in the gardens

in ten minutes from this time, you shall have the caning you merit.’

‘Good day, sir,’ replied Mr. Cripps--‘I’ll not forget the favour.’ And

with a profound bow, he moved away with the widow.

‘And so you have let him off?’ cried Lady Brabazon, in amazement.

‘Upon my soul, I couldn’t help it,’ replied the beau. ‘I’ve a

fellow-feeling for the rascal--and, egad, all things considered, he has

played his part so uncommonly well, that I hope he may be successful.’

[[[DAY MASQUERADE IN RANELAGH GARDENS]]]

|And now, before entering Ranelagh, it may be proper to offer a word

as to its history. Alas for the changes and caprices of fashion! This

charming place of entertainment, the delight of our grandfathers and

grandmothers, the boast of the metropolis, the envy of foreigners,

the renowned in song and story, the paradise of hoops and wigs, is

vanished,--numbered with the things that were!--and we fear there is

little hope of its revival.

Ranelagh, it is well known, derived its designation from a nobleman of

the same name, by whom the house was erected, and the gardens, esteemed

the most beautiful in the kingdom, originally laid out. Its situation

adjoined the Royal Hospital at Chelsea, and the date of its erection was

1690-1.

Ranelagh House, on the death of the earl in 1712, passed into the

possession of his daughter, Lady Catherine Jones; but was let, about

twenty years afterwards, to two eminent builders, who relet it to Lacy,

afterwards patentee of Drury Lane Theatre, and commonly called Gentleman

Lacy, by whom it was taken with the intention of giving concerts and

breakfasts within it, on a scale far superior, in point of splendour and

attraction, to any that had been hitherto attempted.

In 1741 the premises were sold by Lacy to Messrs. Crispe and Meyonnet

for £4000, and the rotunda was erected in the same year by subscription.

From this date the true history of Ranelagh may be said to commence.

It at once burst into fashion, and its entertainments being attended

by persons of the first quality, crowds flocked in their train, shortly

after its opening, Mr. Crispe became the sole lessee; and in spite of

the brilliant success of the enterprise, shared the fate of most lessees

of places of public amusement, being declared bankrupt in 1744. The

property was then divided into thirty shares, and so continued until

Ranelagh was closed.

The earliest entertainments of Ranelagh were morning concerts,

consisting chiefly of oratorios, produced under the direction of Michael

Festing, the leader of the band; but evening concerts were speedily

introduced, the latter, it may be mentioned, to show the difference of

former fashionable hours from the present, commencing at half-past five,

and concluding at nine.

Thus it began, but towards its close, the gayest visitors to Ranelagh

went at midnight, just as the concerts were finishing, and remained

there till three or four in the morning. In 1754 the fashionable world

were drawn to Ranelagh by a series of amusements called Comus’s Court;

and notwithstanding their somewhat questionable title, the revels were

conducted with great propriety and decorum. A procession which was

introduced was managed with great effect, and several mock Italian duets

were sung with remarkable spirit. Almost to its close, Ranelagh retained

its character of being the finest place of public entertainment in

Europe, and to the last the rotunda was the wonder and delight of every

beholder.

The coup-d’oeil of the interior of this structure was extraordinarily

striking, and impressed all who beheld it for the first time with

surprise. It was circular in form, and exactly one hundred and fifty

feet in diameter. Round the lower part of the building ran a beautiful

arcade, the intervals between each arch being filled up by alcoves.

Over this was a gallery with a balustrade, having entrances from the

exterior, and forming a sort of upper boxes. Above the gallery was a

range of round-headed windows, between each of which was a carved figure

supporting the roof, and forming the terminus of the column beneath. At

first, the orchestra was placed in the centre of the amphitheatre, but

being found exceedingly inconvenient, as well as destructive of the

symmetry of the building in that situation, it was removed to the side.

It contained a stage capable of accommodating thirty or forty chorus

singers. The original site of the orchestra was occupied by a large

chimney, having four faces enclosed in a beautifully proportioned,

hollow, hexagonal column, with arched openings at the sides, and a

balustrade at the base. Richly moulded, and otherwise ornamented with

appropriate designs, this enormous column had a charming effect, and

gave a peculiar character to the whole amphitheatre. A double range of

large chandeliers descended from the ceiling; others were placed within

the column above mentioned, and every alcove had its lamp. When all

these chandeliers and lamps were lighted, the effect was wonderfully

brilliant.

[Illustration: 0340]

The external diameter of the rotunda was one hundred and eighty-five

feet. It was surrounded on the outside by an arcade similar to that

within, above which ran a gallery with a roof supported by pillars,

and defended by a balustrade. The main entrance was a handsome piece

of architecture, with a wide, round, arched gate in the centre, and a

lesser entrance at either side.

On the left of the rotunda stood the Earl of Ranelagh’s old mansion,

a structure of some magnitude, but with little pretensions to beauty,

being built in the formal Dutch taste of the time of William of Orange.

On the right, opposite the mansion, was a magnificent conservatory, with

great pots of aloes in front. In a line with the conservatory, and the

side entrance of the rotunda, stretched out a long and beautiful canal,

in the midst of which stood a Chinese fishing temple, approached by a

bridge. On either side of the canal were broad gravel walks, and alleys

shaded by lines of trees, and separated by trimly clipped hedges. The

gardens were exquisitely arranged with groves, bowers, statues, temples,

wildernesses, and shady retreats.

Though Lady Brabazon’s carriage was within a hundred yards of the

entrance of Ranelagh when Mr. Cripps and his party passed it, owing to

the crowd and confusion it was nearly a quarter of an hour in setting

down. Before getting out, the whole party put on their masks; and Lady

Brabazon wrapped herself in a yellow silk domino. Trussell took charge

of Clementina, and her ladyship fell to Randulph’s care.

It was yet extremely early, but the crowd was prodigious,--many hundred

persons being assembled in the area before the entrance to the rotunda.

At least a thousand others were dispersed within the gardens, for the

rotunda was not opened till the evening; and it was afterwards computed

that more than four thousand persons attended the masquerade.

At the entrance, Lady Brabazon and her daughter were joined by Beau

Villiers, Sir Bulkeley Price, and Firebras, Sir Singleton Spinke having

disappeared. Randulph had already been more than once at Ranelagh, but

it was only to attend the ordinary concerts, and never having seen a

masquerade, he was extraordinarily struck with the spectacle presented

to him.

Most of the characters were grotesquely dressed, as was the taste of

the time, for it was not a period when the niceties of costume were

understood or regarded; still, the general effect was admirable. A

May-pole, surmounted by a crown, with long ribands dangling from it, was

planted in front of the conservatory, and several dancers were chasing

each other round it, while lively strains were played by a band of

musicians beside them. Other and less melodious sounds were heard. Now

a drummer would go by, beating a rub-a-dub enough to deafen every

listener. Then came the vile scraping of a fiddle, or the shrill notes

of a fife. The shouts, the laughter, the cries of all kinds baffled

description, and equally vain would it be to attempt any delineation

of the motley assemblage. It consisted of persons of all countries, all

periods, and all ranks, for the most part oddly enough jumbled together.

A pope in his tiara would be conversing with a Jew; a grave lawyer in

his gown and wig had a milk-girl under his arm; a highland chief in his

full equipments escorted a nun; a doge in his splendid habiliments was

jesting with a common sailor, with a thick stick under his arm.

But frolic and fun everywhere prevailed; and to judge from the noise,

everybody seemed to be merry. No one could escape from the tricks and

jests of the buffoons with whom the crowd abounded. The humour of the

last century was eminently practical; cuffs and kicks were liberally

dealt around, and returned in kind; and whenever a sounding blow was

heard, it elicited shouts of laughter like those that are heard at the

feigned knocks in a pantomime. The clowns, punches, pierrots, doctors,

and harlequins, of whom there were several besides our friend, Mr.

Cripps, were the chief creators of this kind of merriment.

While Randulph, greatly diverted by all he saw, was gazing around, a few

words pronounced by a voice whose tones thrilled to his heart caught his

ear. He turned, and saw close behind him, attended by a tall personage,

whose stiffness left no doubt as to its being Sir Norfolk Salusbury,

a beautiful female mask, whose snowy skin and dark streaming ringlets

would have told him, if his heart had not informed him of the fact, that

it was Hilda, but before he could summon resolution to address her, she

had passed by; and Lady Brabazon, who had likewise heard the voice and

recognised the speaker, dragged him in the opposite direction towards

the May-pole. He looked eagerly backwards, but the fair mask was lost

amid the throng, nor could he even discern the tall figure of Sir

Norfolk.

[[[RANDULPH AND HILDA DANCING IN THE ROTUNDA AT RANELAGH GARDENS]]]

|Some hours passed on in this way, and Randulph was still held in

bondage. At length the rotunda was opened. Of course, the royal party

was ceremoniously ushered in, in the first place; but immediately

afterwards crowds poured-in, and the whole area of the amphitheatre,

together with the boxes and gallery above, were filled with company.

What with the innumerable lights, and the extraordinary variety of

dresses, the whole scene had a most brilliant effect. There was an

excellent band in the orchestra, and a concert was commenced, but little

attention was paid to it by the assemblage, who continued promenading

round and round the amphitheatre--laughing and talking loudly with each

other.

As soon as the concert was over, the loud blowing of a horn attracted

general observation to a platform near the central column, on which the

quack doctor and his attendant were stationed--the latter of whom began

dispensing his medicines, and vaunting their efficacy, in a highly

ludicrous manner. This and other entertainments consumed the time till

ten o’clock; before which, however, a magnificent supper was served to

the royal party in a private refreshment room.

A bell was then rung, to announce that a grand display of fireworks was

about to take place, and the company hurried to the outer galleries and

to the gardens to witness the exhibition. Much confusion ensued, and

amidst it, the fair Thomasine, somehow or other, got separated from

her party. The little barber was almost frantic. He rushed hither and

thither among the crowd, calling for her by name, and exciting general

ridicule. At last, in an agony of despair, he stationed himself near

the scaffold where the fireworks were placed; and when the first

signal-rocket ascended, he perceived her pretty face turned upwards at

a little distance from him. She was standing near the trees with the old

beau, whose transports at his enviable situation were somewhat disturbed

by the descent of a heavy rocket-stick on his head. At this juncture

the little barber reached his truant mistress, and forcing her from Sir

Singleton, placed her rounded arm under his own, and held it fast.

‘Oh, dear, how glad I am to see you,’ said the naughty little Thomasine,

for ‘fair’ she does not deserve to be called; ‘we’ve been looking for

you everywhere’--(here she told a sad story). ‘That odious old beau has

been trying to persuade me to run away with him. He offers to settle--I

don’t know what--upon me, and to make me Lady Spinke.’

‘And why don’t you accept his offer?’ said the barber, in an ecstasy of

jealous rage.

‘Because I’m engaged, and engagements with me are sacred things,’

replied the fair Thomasine theatrically, yet tenderly. ‘But do look at

that beautiful wheel.’

The fireworks were really splendid. Flights of rockets soared into the

skies; magnificent wheels performed their mutations; star-pieces

poured forth their radiant glories; maroon batteries resounded; Chinese

fountains filled the air with glittering showers; pots-des-aigrettes,

pots-des-brins, and pots-des-saucis-sons discharged their stars,

serpents, and crackers; yew-trees burnt with brilliant fire;

water-rockets turned the canal to flame; fire-balloons ascended; and a

grand car with flaming wheels, drawn by sea-horses snorting fire, and

containing a figure of Neptune, which, traversed the whole length of

the canal, and encircled the Chinese temple--the bridge being removed to

make way for it--and finally exploded, scattering serpents and crackers

in every direction, concluded the exhibition, amid the general plaudits

of the assemblage. Darkness for a few minutes enveloped the crowd,

during which a few cries were heard in timid female tones; but the lamps

were as soon as possible lighted, and the majority of the assemblage

returned to the rotunda, where they repaired to the alcoves, and many

a bowl of punch was emptied, many a bottle of champagne quaffed; after

which dancing was resumed with greater spirit than ever.

Mr. Rathbone gave a capital supper to his party, in which the old beau

contrived to get himself included. He contrived also to sit near the

fair Thomasine, and pledged her so often and so deeply that he fell

beneath the table. Here he was left by the others, and a minuet being

struck up, Mr. Cripps offered his hand to the widow, and led her forth

to dance; while Mr. Rathbone, greatly exhilarated by the punch he had

drunk, stood by, laughing at them ready to split his sides; and the

little barber took the opportunity of their being left alone together,

to reprove the fair Thomasine for her improper conduct towards the old

beau during supper.

Liberated by the departure of the Prince of Wales, who quitted the

gardens on the conclusion of the fireworks, Randulph immediately

returned to the rotunda, in the hope of finding Hilda still there. He

had scarcely entered it when he perceived Firebras at supper by himself

in one of the alcoves, and instantly joined him.

‘She is still here,’ said Firebras, ‘and as soon as I have finished my

supper I will take you to her. There would be no use in going now, for

Sir Norfolk has only just ordered supper, and I can merely introduce you

as a partner for a dance. Sit down, and take a glass of champagne.’

Randulph declined the latter offer, and was obliged to control

his impatience until Firebras thought fit to rise. Crossing the

amphitheatre, they proceeded to an alcove, in which Sir Norfolk and

Hilda were seated, and Firebras, bowing to the old knight, said--

‘Sir Norfolk, permit me to have the honour of presenting the friend I

mentioned some hours ago to your fair charge. Miss Scarve,’ he added,

after a significant look at Hilda, ‘this gentleman wishes to have the

honour of dancing a minuet with you. I am sorry there is no time for

a more ceremonious introduction to yourself, Sir Norfolk, but the

musicians are striking up the dance.’

[Illustration: 0348]

Upon this Hilda arose, and tendered her hand, with some trepidation, to

Randulph, who, with a breast thrilling with joyful emotion, led her to

the open space cleared for the dancers, and part of which was already

occupied, as before related, by Mr. Cripps and the widow. No time was

allowed Randulph to hazard a word to his partner. Scarcely were they

placed when the minuet commenced. The grace with which they performed

this charming, though formal dance, excited the admiration of all the

beholders, and contrasted strongly with the exaggerated style in which

it was executed by Mr. Cripps and Mrs. Nettleship. Indeed, a better

foil--had such been desired--could not have been found than the two

latter personages presented. Sir Norfolk planted himself on one side to

view the dance, and there was unwonted elation in his countenance as

he witnessed the graceful movements of his fair cousin and her partner.

Trussell in his Turkish dress was among the spectators; and not far from

him stood Cardwell Firebras. There were two other personages, also, who

watched the dance, but who regarded it with other sentiments than those

of satisfaction. These were Lady Brabazon and Beau Villiers.

‘So you see, Villiers, notwithstanding all your scheming, he _has_

contrived to dance with her,’ said the former.

‘He has,’ replied the beau, partly removing his mask, and displaying a

countenance inflamed with passion--‘but he has not exchanged a word with

her, and I will take care he shall not exchange one.’

‘You are desperately in love with this girl, Villiers,’ said Lady

Brabazon angrily. ‘I thought it was her fortune merely you aimed at.’

‘I have been foiled, and that has piqued me,’ replied Villiers.

‘_Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_,’ rejoined Lady Brabazon. ‘After the

failure of your attempt to carry her off, I wonder you will persevere.’

‘Hush!’ exclaimed the beau. ‘Some one may overhear us. I would have

carried her off to-night, if I had known she would have been here. Your

ladyship ought to be obliged to me for the trouble I am taking. I

shall remove your rival, and you will then have young Crew entirely to

yourself. And now to put Sir Norfolk on his guard.’

With this, he passed on to the Welsh baronet, and addressed him. The

latter bowed stiffly in return, and approached nearer the dancers; and

while Hilda was curtseying to her partner at the close of the minuet, he

took her hand and led her away. The young man would have followed them,

but Cardwell Firebras came up, and arrested him.

‘It won’t do,’ he said; ‘Villiers has told the old baronet who you are.

I must go after him instantly, and make some excuse for my share in the

matter, or I shall have to cross swords with him to-morrow morning. I

have done all I can for you. Goodnight.’

Soon after this, Randulph quitted the masquerade with Trussell. With

some difficulty a boat was procured to convey them home. Finding his

nephew in no mood for conversation, Trussell, who was rather tired, and

moreover had drunk a good deal of punch and champagne, disposed himself

to slumber, nor did he awake till they reached Lambeth Stairs. Another

boat had just landed, and two persons in dominos marched before them in

the very direction they were going.

‘Why, who the deuce have we here?’ cried Trussell, running forward to

overtake the party in advance. ‘Zounds, brother, is it you? Have you

been at the masquerade?’

‘I have,’ replied Abel; ‘and I have seen all that has occurred there.’

[[[THE SUPPER AT VAUXHALL--BEAU VILLIERS’s ATTEMPT TO CARRY OFF HILDA

DEFEATED BY RANDULPH]]]

|Celebrated throughout Europe, and once esteemed the most delightful

place of recreation of the kind, Vauxhall Gardens were in existence

considerably more than a century. They were first opened with a

ridotto al fresco, about the year 1730, and speedily rising to a high

reputation, were enlarged, and laid out in the most superb manner.

A magnificent orchestra, of Gothic form, ornamented with carving and

niches, and provided with a fine organ, was erected in the midst of the

garden. There was likewise a rotunda, though not of equal dimensions

with that of Ranelagh, being only seventy feet in diameter, with a

dome-like roof, supported by four handsome Ionic columns, embellished

with foliage at the base, while the shafts were wreathed with a Gothic

balustrade, representing climbing figures. From the centre depended a

magnificent chandelier.

A part of the rotunda, used as a saloon, was decorated with columns,

between which were paintings by Hayman. The entrance from the gardens

was through a Gothic portal. Moreover, there were pavillions or

alcoves, ornamented with paintings, from designs by Hogarth and Hayman,

appropriate to the place; each alcove having a table in it capable of

accommodating six or eight persons, and leading in an extensive sweep

to a magnificent piazza, five hundred feet in length, of Chinese

architecture. This semicircle led to a further sweep of pavilions.

A noble gravel walk, nine hundred feet in length, bordered with lofty

trees, and terminated by a broad lawn, in which there was a Gothic

obelisk, faced the entrance. But the enchantment of the gardens

commenced with the moment of their illumination, when upwards of two

thousand lamps, lighted almost simultaneously, glimmered through the

green leaves of the trees, and shed their radiance on the fairy

scene around. This was the grand charm of Vauxhall. One of its minor

attractions was a curious piece of machinery representing a miller’s

house, a water-wheel, and a cascade, which, at that period of the

art, was thought quite marvellous. There were numberless walks and

wildernesses in the grounds, and most of the vistas were adorned with

statues. In one of them, at a date a little posterior to this history,

was a statue of Handel as Orpheus holding a lyre.

It was nearly ten o’clock when Randulph reached the gardens. He

proceeded along the grand walk, which was brilliantly illuminated, and

filled with company, as far as the obelisk, but he could see nothing of

Sir Norfolk or Hilda.

He then turned into one of the side walks, and approached the orchestra,

in front of which stood Kitty Conway, preparing to sing. She instantly

detected him, and made a slight movement of recognition. As he passed

the range of alcoves beneath the orchestra, he perceived Jacob, who

instantly came towards him.

‘I’ve found it all out,’ said the porter--‘I knew I should. Mr. Willars

_is_ the contriver of the plot. He means to carry off Miss Hilda, and

has engaged a coach for that purpose, which is stationed at the back o’

the gardens. Luckily, the coachman is a friend o’ mine, and it’s through

him I’ve detected the scheme.’

‘But where is your mistress?’ cried Randulph.

‘There,’ replied Jacob, pointing to a party seated at supper beneath the

grove of trees in front of the orchestra.

‘I see,’ replied Randulph. ‘By Heaven!’ he cried, ‘Mr. Villiers is

coming this way. Two persons stop him. As I live, one of them is his

valet, and the other Captain Culpepper, a fellow whom my uncle Trussell

told me was a sort of bravo, and would cut any man’s throat for hire.

Doubtless they are planning the abduction.

‘You may take your oath of it,’ replied Jacob. ‘I’ll manage to get near

‘em unobserved. Come back to this place when they separate, and you

shall know all.’

So saying, he slouched his hat over his eyes, and mingling with the

crowd, got within ear-shot of the beau, who, as has been intimated, was

addressing Captain Culpepper and Mr. Cripps.

[Illustration: 0356]

Randulph, meanwhile, felt irresistibly drawn towards the table where

Hilda was seated, and as he kept behind the trees, he was not noticed by

the party, though he _was_ noticed by Kitty Conway, from the orchestra,

who, guessing his intention, was so much agitated, that, for the first

time in her professional career, she made some false notes in her

singing. Hilda’s seat was placed against a tree. On her right was Sir

Norfolk Salusbury; and on the right of the baronet, Lady Brabazon; next

her ladyship was a vacant chair--no doubt just quitted by Beau

Villiers; then came Lady Fazakerly; then Sir Bulkeley Price; and lastly,

Clementina Brabazon, who occupied the seat on the left of the miser’s

daughter.

Partly screened by the tree against which Hilda was seated, Randulph

bent forward, and breathed her name in the gentlest accents. Hilda heard

the whisper, and looking round, beheld the speaker. How much may be

conveyed in a glance! She read the intensity of his passion and the

depth of his devotion in his eyes, and for the first time returned

his gaze with a look of kindness, almost of tenderness; Randulph was

transported; he could not resist the impulse that prompted him to

advance and take her hand, which she unresistingly yielded to him. All

this was the work of a minute; but the action had not been unobserved,

either by Kitty Conway or Lady Brabazon. Both had felt a similar pang of

jealousy, but revenge instantly occurred to the latter. While Randulph

was in the act of raising Hilda’s hand to his lips, she touched Sir

Norfolk’s arm, and, pointing in the direction of the lovers, whispered,

‘Look there!’

Sir Norfolk arose, and in a stern and peremptory voice, said to the

young man, ‘Set free that lady’s hand, sir!’

‘Not unless she chooses to withdraw it,’ replied Randulph.

‘I am wholly to blame for this, Sir Norfolk,’ said Hilda, withdrawing

her hand, and blushing deeply.

‘You are pleased to say so, Miss Scarve,’ returned Sir Norfolk;

‘but the young man has been guilty of a great indecorum, and I shall

call him to a strict account for it.’

‘I shall be ready to answer the call whenever you please, Sir Norfolk,’

rejoined Randulph. ‘But this is not the place for menaces. You will do

well to look after your charge.’

‘I shall take care to keep off impertinents like you,’ replied Sir

Norfolk.

‘Better guard her against other dangers, which require more penetration

than you care to practise,’ retorted Randulph. ‘I have only one answer

to make to such insolence,’ said Sir Norfolk, ‘and that shall be given

to-morrow. You shall hear from me, Mr. Crew.’

‘As soon as you please, Sir Norfolk,’ replied Randulph.

‘For my sake, Mr. Crew,’ interposed Hilda, ‘let this quarrel go no

further. I have been the innocent cause of it. Promise me it shall not.’

‘I would willingly obey you in anything, Miss Scarve,’ replied

Randulph; ‘but in this case it is not in my power. Farewell!’ Fixing one

passionate look upon her, he then bowed haughtily to Sir Norfolk, who

returned his salutation in kind, and withdrew.

As he walked away, he encountered Beau Villiers, who was returning from

his conference. Villiers started on seeing him, but instantly recovered

himself, and would have addressed him, but Randulph turned abruptly

away.

‘What the devil has brought Randulph Crew here?’ said Villiers to Sir

Singleton, as he joined the party. ‘I thought he was at Drury Lane.’

‘Devil knows!’ cried the old beau. ‘But he has made a pretty scene.’ And

he proceeded to relate what had occurred. Villiers laughed heartily at

the recital.

‘I hope old Salusbury will cut his throat,’ he said, in an undertone.

‘Why, it would be desirable to get him out of the way, certainly,’

replied the old beau. ‘The women are all mad about him.’

‘Especially Kitty Conway,’ observed Villiers. ‘Odds life! this accounts

for her having feinted in the orchestra. I wondered what could be the

matter with her, but now I understand it. All is prepared,’ he added, in

a deep whisper to Lady Brabazon.

‘Be careful how you act,’ she replied, in a low tone. ‘You’ll find Sir

Norfolk dangerous, and Randulph Crew is on the watch.’

‘Fear nothing,’ he rejoined, ‘I’ve taken my measures securely. Make

towards the dark walk, and contrive to lead him and the others away.’

Lady Brabazon nodded. Soon after this she arose, and, without ceremony,

took Sir Norfolk’s arm, while Villiers very gallantly offered his to

Hilda. The rest of the party paired off in like manner. Leading the way

in the direction agreed upon, Lady Brabazon expressed a desire to view

the scenic representation of the mill and waterfall before mentioned,

which was exhibited in a hollow of the great walk; and they proceeded

towards it. Hilda was much displeased by the assiduities of her

companion, and she could not help remarking that he contrived, on

various pretences, to linger behind the rest of the party, and though

she repeatedly urged him to rejoin them, he always made some excuse for

not doing so. At last, on pausing longer than usual, they quite lost

sight of them, and were hurrying forward at Hilda’s urgent request,

when, as they passed one of the side vistas, Mr. Cripps, who was

standing at the end of it, advanced towards his master.

‘Fortunately encountered, sir,’ said the valet, bowing; ‘Lady Brabazon

sent me to look for you, to tell you that she and the party are gone

down a walk on the left to see a fine painting in the Chinese pavilion

at the end of it. With your permission, I’ll show you the way.’

‘Oh, yes, let us go to them, by all means,’ said Hilda unsuspectingly.

‘Lead on, then!’ cried the beau, scarcely able to conceal his

satisfaction at the success of the scheme.

A few steps brought them to the end of a narrow walk, arched over

by trees, the branches of which were so thickly interlaced, that the

moonlight could not penetrate through them. Alarmed by its appearance,

Hilda drew back. ‘How thoughtless of Sir Norfolk to leave me thus!’ she

exclaimed.

‘Why, you are surely not afraid of accompanying me down this walk, Miss

Scarve,’ laughed the beau. ‘My valet is with us, and shall protect you.

The Chinese pavilion is not more than a hundred yards off; and the walk,

though dark, is not solitary.’

Fancying she perceived some persons within it, Hilda suffered herself to

be led on; but she had not advanced many steps when all her uneasiness

returned, and she bitterly regretted having assented. But it was too

late. The beau’s grasp had tightened upon her arm, and he drew her

quickly forward, while Mr. Cripps proceeded at the same rapid pace. Once

or twice, she thought she heard footsteps behind her, and almost fancied

she could distinguish a figure walking near them, but she did not dare

to express her terrors.

They had proceeded, so for as she could judge, about a hundred yards,

when a sudden turn in the walk disclosed a low hedge; beyond was the

open country bathed in moonlight. Coming to a sudden halt, the beau

said, in a hurried, but imperative tone--

‘Miss Scarve, I love you to desperation, and am determined to make you

mine. You are now in my power, and must accompany me.’

‘Never,’ replied Hilda resolutely. ‘And I command you to release me.’

She would have screamed for help, if Villiers, who grasped her more

tightly, had not taken out his handkerchief, and, placing it over her

mouth, prevented her cries. While this was passing, Captain Culpepper

emerged from the trees, and hastened with Mr. Cripps towards him.

‘Bravo, sir,’ cried the captain. ‘All goes well this time. We’ll have

her in the coach in a twinkling.’

‘Not so fast, villains!’ thundered Randulph, rushing forward. ‘I have

allowed you to go thus far to see to what lengths your villainy would

carry you. But you shall pay dearly for it.’

As he spoke, he rushed to the beau, and snatching Hilda from him, dashed

him backwards with such force that he fell upon the ground. Another

person likewise came to the rescue. This was Jacob, who, brandishing his

cudgel, hurried to the scene of action. On seeing him the valet whipped

out his blade, but it was beaten from his grasp, and he only avoided a

terrible blow from the cudgel by a nimble leap aside. Without waiting

for a second blow, he plunged into the wood, and made his escape.

Captain Culpepper fared no better. Before he could draw his sword, he

received a blow on the head that stretched him senseless and bleeding on

the ground. Hilda, meantime, had murmured her thanks to her deliverer,

who felt, as he pressed her to his bosom, that the whole of his previous

anxiety was more than repaid by the unutterable joy of the moment.

‘Hilda!’ he cried passionately, ‘I would risk a thousand lives for you.

Forgive me if, at this moment, I dare to ask if I may hope?’

She murmured a faint response in the affirmative.

‘I am the happiest of men!’ cried Randulph, transported with delight.

‘Alas!’ exclaimed Hilda, ‘my avowal can give you little happiness. I can

never be yours.’

‘There you speak truth!’ cried Villiers, who by this time had regained

his feet, and furiously approached them. ‘You never shall be his.’

‘This is the leader of the gang!’ cried Jacob, who having just disposed

of Captain Culpepper, now rushed towards the beau, brandishing his

cudgel in a formidable manner. ‘I’ll soon settle him.’

‘Leave him alone, Jacob,’ cried Randulph authoritatively; ‘his

punishment belongs to me.’

‘You’re wrong, sir,’ rejoined Jacob, ‘but I shan’t disobey you. He

doesn’t deserve to be treated like a gen’l’man.’

‘Oblige me by stepping aside for a moment, Mr. Crew!’ said the beau,

with forced politeness. And as Randulph complied, added--‘I shall expect

satisfaction for the injury you have here done me.’

‘I might well refuse it,’ replied Randulph; ‘but I am too eager for

vengeance myself to do so. You shall have the satisfaction you seek as

soon as you please.’

‘To-morrow morning, then, at the earliest hour--at five--in Tothill

Fields,’ said Villiers.

‘I will be there,’ replied Randulph. And, quitting the beau, he rejoined

Hilda, to whom he offered his arm. They walked down the avenue together,

Jacob following close beside them. Hilda allowed her hand to remain in

his, while he poured the warmest protestations of attachment into her

ear. She did not attempt to check him; and perhaps it would be difficult

to say which of the two felt the most regret when that brief dream of

happiness was ended, as they emerged into the lighted vista.

Almost immediately on entering the great walk, they met Sir Norfolk

and Lady Brabazon and the rest of the party. Her ladyship was at first

greatly confused at seeing Randulph, but she instantly guessed what

had happened, and tried to put a good face on the matter. Advancing to

Hilda, she hastily inquired what had happened; but the latter turned

coldly from her, and taking the arm of Sir Norfolk Salusbury, desired to

be led home.

‘Your ladyship is perfectly aware of the peril in which I have been

placed,’ she said. ‘But I have been delivered from it by the courage and

address of Mr. Crew.’

‘Before you go, Miss Scarve,’ said Lady Brabazon, ‘I beseech you to give

me some explanation of what has happened.’

‘It must suffice, then, to say, that Mr. Villiers has attempted to carry

me off,’ replied Hilda--‘but his purpose has been defeated.’

‘What is this I hear?’ cried Sir Norfolk. ‘Mr. Villiers guilty of so

base an attempt? I will go in search of him instantly!’

‘I have undertaken the punishment of Mr. Villiers’s offence, sir,’ said

Randulph.

‘You have an account to settle with me yourself, sir,’ rejoined Sir

Norfolk sternly.

‘I will settle it at five o’clock to-morrow morning, in Tothill Fields,’

replied Randulph, in a low tone, ‘after I have arranged with Mr.

Villiers.’

‘Be it so,’ replied Sir Norfolk. And he strode off with Hilda, followed

by Jacob; while Randulph, without staying to exchange a word with Lady

Brabazon, walked away in the opposite direction.

[[[THE DUEL IN TOTHILL FIELDS, WESTMINSTER]]]

|It was a fresh and beautiful morning, though the sun was scarcely

risen, and a thin silvery mist hung like a veil over the smooth surface

of the water. Two or three watermen were lying asleep in their tilts,

and they roused one of them, who speedily rowed them to the opposite

bank, near which they found Mr. Hewitt, with two brace of swords under

his arm, in addition to the one by his side, accompanied by a tall stout

man, with a red face, dressed in a well-powdered wig, and a suit of

purple velvet, and carrying a gold-headed cane, who was introduced as

Mr. Molson, the surgeon.

‘You look famously,’ said the fencing-master to Randulph.

‘Follow my instructions, and you’re sure to come off victoriously.’

The party then walked along the Horseferry Road, which speedily brought

them to Tothill Fields. They were the first on the ground, and Mr.

Hewitt, after looking about for a short time, discovered a spot

excellently adapted for the encounters. By this time, the sun having

risen, the morning’s early promise of beauty was fully confirmed.

The spot selected for the combats commanded a fine view of Westminster

Abbey, which reared its massive body and tall towers above a range of

mean habitations masking its base. Cawing jackdaws in clouds wheeled in

the sunny air above its pinnacles.

A calmer or more beautiful scene could not be imagined. Randulph’s

reflections were interrupted by the approach of two persons from the

left of the fields, who proved to be Sir Norfolk Salusbury and Cardwell

Firebras. Sir Norfolk bowed stiffly to Randulph, and also to Trussell,

and seeing that the beau was not arrived, said to the former, ‘As I am

first in the field, I am entitled to the first bout.’

‘I am sorry I cannot oblige you, Sir Norfolk,’ replied Randulph; ‘but I

_must_ give Mr. Villiers priority.’

‘Well, as you please, sir,’ said the baronet, walking aside.

Cardwell Firebras then advanced to Randulph.

‘I am here as Sir Norfolk’s second,’ he said; ‘but I hope the matter may

only serve as a little breathing for you both before breakfast. It is

an idle quarrel. We must talk about Villiers’s attempt anon. But here he

is.’

As he spoke, two chairs were seen approaching from the lower end of the

fields. When they came within a hundred yards of the party they stopped,

and from the first issued Mr. Villiers, and from the other Sir Bulkeley

Price. Mr. Cripps walked by the side of his master’s chair, bearing a

water-bottle and a glass. The new-comers advanced slowly towards the

party, and Mr. Villiers, having bowed with much haughtiness to Randulph,

gracefully saluted the rest of the company.

‘Have we anything to wait for, gentlemen?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ replied Trussell; ‘we are all ready.’

‘To business, then,’ rejoined the beau.

At a motion from his master, Mr. Cripps advanced towards him, and

receiving his clouded cane, proceeded to divest him of his coat,

leaving him on a light striped silk waistcoat, with sleeves of the same

material. Randulph, meantime, threw off his upper garment, and rolled

up the shirt sleeve on his right arm. Mr. Hewitt then stepped up to

him, and gave him the German sword he had promised; while Mr. Villiers

received an exquisitely tempered blade from the valet.

These preparations made, the seconds and bystanders fell back a few

paces, Trussell, Firebras, and Hewitt standing on one side, and the two

baronets on the other, while the surgeon stood at a little distance in

the rear with Mr. Cripps. Advancing towards each other, the combatants

saluted, and in another moment their blades were crossed, and several

rapid passes exchanged.

The spectators watched the conflict with the greatest interest, for both

parties appeared admirably matched, and the beau’s superior skill

was counterbalanced by Randulph’s extraordinary vigour and quickness.

Thrusts were made and parried on both sides, but not a single hit was

given, until Randulph, finding his adversary engaged in tierce with a

high point, made a firm thrust in carte over the arm, and passed

his sword through the fleshy part of the other’s shoulder. At this

successful hit, the seconds rushed forward, but before they reached the

spot, the beau’s sword fell from his grasp.

‘It is nothing,’ said Villiers, surrendering himself to the surgeon, who

likewise hurried towards him; ‘but I acknowledge myself defeated.’

While the beau’s wound was bound up by the surgeon, and he was led to

the chair by Mr. Cripps, Sir Norfolk Salusbury, who had been a watchful

spectator of the conflict, stepped forward, and said to Randulph--

‘Whatever may be the issue of our encounter, Mr. Crew, I shall declare

that in the combat which has just taken place, you have conducted

yourself like a man of honour and spirit.’

‘I am glad to receive the acknowledgment from you, Sir Norfolk,’ replied

Randulph, bowing.

‘Pray do not hurry yourself on my account,’ said the baronet

courteously.

‘I am quite ready for you,’ replied Randulph. ‘What I have gone through

has only served to steady my nerves.’

With the assistance of Firebras, who had come over to him, Sir Norfolk

then took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and in this state

presented so extraordinary an appearance, that Randulph could scarcely

repress a smile. The punctilious old knight’s first step was to deliver

his sword to Mr. Hewitt, who, on measuring it with that of Randulph,

found that it exceeded the latter in length by two inches. He therefore

gave him one of his own swords, and Sir Norfolk, beating an appeal with

his right foot, bade his youthful opponent come on. Having gone through

their salutes with the greatest formality, they commenced the combat

with the utmost caution.

Sir Norfolk acted chiefly upon the defensive, and contented himself

almost entirely with parrying the thrusts aimed at him. Randulph soon

found that he had a formidable antagonist to deal with, and altering

his plan, tried to compel him to attack him. He made several feints with

great dexterity, and just touched his adversary’s breast with an inside

thrust in carte, causing a slight effusion of blood.

This had the effect of rousing the old baronet into exertion, and in his

turn he became the assailant. He attacked Randulph with such force and

fury, that he drove him back several paces. The young man returned to

the charge, and pressed his adversary in his turn, so that he regained

his ground; but while making a pass in carte, his sword was turned near

the wrist by a dexterous and sudden lunge on the part of the baronet,

whose point entered his side just below the elbow, and inflicted

a severe wound. Maddened by the pain, Randulph continued to fight

desperately, but the seconds rushed between the combatants, and

interposing their blades, declared that the strife must terminate, and

that Sir Norfolk was the victor. The baronet immediately dropped his

sword, and Randulph, whose strength had been fast failing, fell to the

ground insensible.

[[[THE DISCOVERY OF THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET--TREATS OF THE MISER’S

ILLNESS, AND OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET BY HILDA]]]

|His mind lightened, apparently, by what had taken place, Mr. Scarve

remained perfectly quiet during the rest of the day, and retired early

to rest; but he passed another sleepless night, and was seized with a

new panic about his money.

The next day, finding himself unable to go downstairs, he ordered

Jacob to bring up all his boxes, and to place them near him. His fever

increasing, and assuming somewhat the character of an ague, he consented

to have a small fire kept up constantly in his bedroom, and set his

chair close beside it. In addition to his dressing-gown he wrapped an

old blanket over his shoulders, and tried to keep his lower limbs warm

by clothing them in a couple of pairs of worsted hose. His bed being

totally destitute of hangings, he had a sheet hung up against the lower

end of it to keep off the blaze of the fire, which he fancied disturbed

him during the night. These slight comforts were all he permitted

himself, and he remained as inflexible as ever on the score of medicine

and medical advice.

‘A doctor can do no good,’ he said to Jacob, who urged him to send for

one; ‘if abstinence won’t cure a man, no physic will.’

‘Well, perhaps you’re right, sir,’ said Jacob; ‘but I wish you’d think

less o’ your worldly affairs, and more o’ your sperretual ones. Look at

that pictur’ over your chimney-piece, and see how Death is takin’ away

the covetous man’s treasures before his very eyes. It might be intended

as a warnin’ to you.’

But he grew daily worse and worse, and his faculties became more and

more enfeebled. He rambled about the house at night, almost in a state

of somnambulism, muttering strange things about his treasure,

and frequently visiting the cellar where he had buried the chest,

unconscious that it was gone. At such times, Jacob constantly followed,

to prevent him from doing himself a mischief, but took care not to be

seen. His groans and lamentations were pitiful to hear, for he had begun

to fancy himself a ruined man, and not even the sight of his money

could assure him to the contrary. It was vain to reason with him. The

distressing idea was too strongly impressed upon his mind to be removed.

His next whim was to have his boxes opened by Hilda, to whom he had

entrusted his keys, and he insisted upon certain deeds and papers being

read to him, the meaning of which he only very imperfectly comprehended.

One night, when seated by the fireside wrapped in his blanket, and with

his feet on a straw hassock, he desired his daughter to read him some

more papers. The fire burnt as cheerily as it could in the starveling

grate, and Hilda insisting upon having two candles to read by, there was

more light than usual. Having got through several mortgages, leases,

and bonds, to the innumerable clauses of which he listened in his usual

apathetic manner, he suddenly turned round to her, and pointing to the

strong box which formerly stood under his table in the room downstairs,

signed to her to open it. Well aware that this box contained his most

private papers, Hilda had hitherto avoided meddling with it, but thus

enjoined, she no longer hesitated. Placing it on the table, therefore,

she took the large bunch of keys, and soon finding the right one,

unlocked it.

‘Is there anything in particular you wish me to read, dear father?’ she

said, taking out some papers tied together with red tape. ‘Here is a

bond for two thousand pounds from George Delahay Villiers, Esquire;

another from Lady Brabazon; and another from Sir Bulkeley Price. Shall I

read any of them?’

The miser shook his head.

‘Here are several bills,’ she continued, taking up a roll of smaller

papers--‘and another bundle of mortgages, will you hear any of them?’

[[[THE DISCOVERY OF THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET]]]

The miser shook his head. The movement was almost mechanical with him.

‘Then I will go on,’ pursued Hilda. ‘Ah! what is this letter with the

black seal? Shall I read it?’

[Illustration: 0375]

The miser made no reply. He was gazing listlessly into the fire, and

watching the wreaths of smoke ascend the chimney with childish delight.

Hilda, therefore, opened the letter, and found a small memorandum

enclosed in it, which she placed upon the table. Trembling with emotion,

she then began to read aloud the following lines:--

‘“Old and valued Friend--If this should ever meet your eye, I shall have

been a year in my grave, for, in accordance with our agreement, it

will not be delivered to you until the expiration of that time after my

death. The agreement, I need not remind you, was so formed that in case

we should both die within the year, the contract entered into by us

respecting the marriage of our children should be null and void.”’

Here Hilda was startled by a sharp cry from her father, and looking up,

she saw that he was staring wildly and inquiringly at her.

‘What are you reading?’ he asked.

‘The letter delivered to you by Randulph Crew,’ she replied; ‘the letter

from his father.’

‘And what business have you to read it?’ he cried. ‘Who gave you leave

to do so?’

‘Having gone so far, I shall go on,’ rejoined Hilda; and she resumed her

reading, ‘“now call upon you to fulfil your share of the contract, and

to give your daughter to my son. When we entered into the engagement,

I was supposed to be the richer of the two; but I am now sadly reduced,

and if my son fulfils his word, and gives up the estates to pay my

creditors, he will have little or nothing.”’

‘He has nothing--he has nothing!’ cried the miser, ‘I will never give my

consent--never!’

‘“But under whatever circumstances he may be placed,”’ said Hilda,

continuing the letter, ‘“whether he gives up the property or not, I call

upon you to fulfil your part of the contract, as I would have fulfilled

mine, whatever might have happened to you; and to make, as you have

agreed to do, a settlement upon your daughter proportioned to your

means.”’

‘I made no such agreement!’ cried the miser; ‘it is false--false!’

“‘I enclose a copy of the memorandum,”’ pursued Hilda, still reading;

‘“the original, as you know, is in the possession of Cardwell Firebras.

He will see it executed. God so requite you as you shall fulfil your

agreement or neglect it!

“‘Randulph Crew.’”

‘And here is the memorandum,’ she added, taking up the smaller piece of

paper. ‘It is signed by Randulph Crew and John Scarve.’

‘It is a forgery!’ shrieked the miser.

‘The original is in the possession of Cardwell Firebras,’ said Hilda.

‘Father, you have dealt unjustly by Randulph Crew. You owe him a great

reparation, and I trust you will make it.’

‘I owe him nothing,’ replied the miser; ‘it is all a fabrication. Give

me the papers, that I may burn them! Give them to me directly.’

And getting up, he staggered towards her, and snatched the letter and

memorandum from her, with the intention of throwing them into the

fire. But before he could do so, the door opened, and admitted Abel

Beechcroft.

[[[RANDULPH DEFENDING HIMSELF AGAINST PHILIP FREWIN AND HIS

MYRMIDONS--RANDULPH AGAIN DINES WITH LADY BRABAZON--HE RECEIVES A NOTE

FROM KITTY CONWAY, AND IS ASSAULTED BY PHILIP FREWIN AND HIS MYRMIDONS

ON HIS WAY TO SUP WITH HER.]]]

|The dinner passed off delightfully. It was a small party, consisting

of Sir Bulkeley Price, Sir Norfolk Salusbury, and Lady Fazakerly.

Everything was done to please Randulph, and the efforts were perfectly

successful. The wine flowed freely after dinner--for it was a hard

drinking age--and Randulph, who had been exceedingly temperate since the

duel, began to feel the effect of it. As he was about to ascend to the

drawing-room with the rest of the gentlemen, a note was handed him by a

servant, which he instantly opened.

‘What says your billet, nephew?’ inquired Trussell, who was standing by.

‘Oh! it’s from Kitty Conway,’ said Randulph. ‘She has found out, I know

not how, that I am here, and wishes me to sup with her to-night for the

last time.’

‘And you will go, won’t you?’ said Trussell.

‘Not I,’ replied Randulph irresolutely.

‘Oh yes, you will,’ said Trussell; ‘and I’ll accompany you on your last

visit, as I did on the first.’

And they went upstairs laughingly to the drawing-room.

Time passed by so fleetly in the fascinating society of Lady Brabazon,

that Randulph was surprised, on glancing at his watch, to find it nearly

eleven o’clock. ‘Jacob will be gone,’ he thought, ‘and will think I have

forgotten him.’

Hastily taking leave of Lady Brabazon, who chided him playfully for

running away so early, and engaged him to call upon her on the following

morning, he went downstairs accompanied by Trussell. They found Jacob at

the door, and in no very bland humour at having been kept so long.

‘My time’s more than up,’ said the latter gruffly, ‘and I was just goin’

away. What I want to say is this,--I’ve received a hint that master’s

miserly nevy, Philip Frewin, is about to decamp with the money I gave

Mr. Diggs t’other day. He’s at the Crown Inn, Ox-yard, King Street.

Suppose you pay him a visit.’

‘I’ll readily do so to-morrow, Jacob,’ said Randulph; ‘but tonight I’m

engaged. Come along with me. My way lies in the same direction as yours,

and I want to talk to you about your master and young mistress.’

Jacob complied, and accompanied Randulph to the corner of Hedge Lane,

a narrow thoroughfare running into Cockspur Street, where he took his

leave. Randulph and his uncle then tracked the lane above mentioned,

until they came to Whitcomb Street, where Kitty Conway then resided,

having removed from the Hay-market to an old house in the latter street,

erected three years after the Great Fire of London--namely, 1669.

Never having visited the pretty actress in her new abode, but having

been told in the note that this date, which was inscribed in large

figures on a shield over the door, would guide him to it, Randulph

was looking out for the house, when he observed three men at a little

distance behind him, who seemed to be dogging him and his uncle. The

foremost was a tall thin man; the second a stout, square-set personage,

attired in a shabby military garb; and the third a great hulking fellow

with an atrociously black muzzle, dressed in a blue jacket, short

trousers, and woollen cap.

Randulph could not help fancying he had seen these personages before,

though he could not tell where, but he did not concern himself much

about them, until just as he had discovered Kitty Conway’s dwelling, and

was about to knock at the door, he saw that they were quickening their

pace towards him. On a nearer approach, he was at no loss to detect

Philip Frewin, and in his companions, Captain Culpepper and the fellow

who had officiated as Jack-in-the-water at the Folly on the Thames.

‘Here is your man!’ shouted Philip, pointing out Randulph to the others;

‘upon him! don’t leave an unbroken bone in his body.’

[Illustration: 0381]

Randulph, however, was prepared for the attack. Grasping the stout cane

he held in his hand, he dealt Philip so severe a blow on the head with

it that he stretched him on his back on the ground. At the same moment,

Trussell received a blow from the cudgel of the athletic sailor, which

sent him reeling against the door, to the posts of which he clung for

support, while the ruffian turning to assault Randulph, encountered an

unexpected adversary in the person of Jacob Post.

‘I thought what you were after, you scoundrels, when I saw you doggin’

these gen’l’men,’ cried Jacob; ‘I’m glad I got up in time. Turn your

cudgel this way, you black-muzzled hound! Two can play at your game.’

While Jacob and his antagonist rapped away at each other as hard as they

could, making the welkin ring with their blows, Randulph turned upon

Culpepper, who attempted to draw his sword to assail him, and belaboured

him so lustily with his cane, that the latter was soon fain to cry for

quarter.

The sound of the cudgels, and the vociferations of the combatants, had

alarmed the watch, who sprang their rattles, and hastened to the scene

of strife, while Kitty Conway, hearing the noise, opened a window above,

and seeing what was passing in the street, added her shrieks to the

general clamour. Before, however, the watch could come up, Jacob had

brought his athletic antagonist to the ground, and Culpepper had taken

to his heels without being able to strike a single blow.

[[[MR. CRIPPS DETECTED--HOW MR. CRIPPS’S MARRIAGE WITH THE WIDOW WAS

INTERRUPTED]]]

|It was arranged that the ceremony should take place in the upper

chamber, where Randulph first breakfasted with the beau, and the

clergyman selected to perform it was Doctor Gaynam. Thus nothing

seemed wanting on the valet’s part to complete the matter; and late on

Wednesday evening he went to Billiter Square, to inform Mrs. Nettleship

that all was ready. After a brief visit, for he was somewhat fatigued,

he took a tender adieu of her, saying, as he squeezed her hand at

parting--

‘We shall meet to-morrow, to part no more!’

The next morning, betimes, Mr. Cripps placed himself under the hands

of Antoine, who proceeded to array him in a magnificent suit, which had

never been worn by his master, it having only been sent home the night

before by Desmartins.

It consisted of a coat of crimson-embossed velvet, richly laced with

gold, breeches of the same material, and a white satin waistcoat

flowered with gold. To these were added, pink silk hose rolled above

the knee, superb diamond buckles, and point-bee cravat, and his master’s

handsomest Ramillies periwig, which had been dressed by Peter Pokerich.

Nearly three hours were expended in thus attiring him; and when all was

completed, Antoine declared that his master had never looked half so

well--a sentiment in which Mr. Cripps, as he complacently surveyed

himself in the cheval-glass, entirely concurred.

A little before twelve, Peter Pokerich and the fair Thomasine arrived.

The lady was dressed in white and silver, with a fly-cap with long

lappets, and looked so excessively pretty that Mr. Cripps could not help

wishing she had been the bride instead of Mrs. Nettleship.

While he was welcoming them, and passing some high-flown compliments on

the fair Thomasine’s charms, Mr. Jukes was shown into the room; but as

he was in his butler’s dress, his nephew did not condescend to speak to

him.

Shortly after this Antoine announced that the bride had arrived, and Mr.

Cripps hurried downstairs to meet her.

Mrs. Nettleship, who had bestowed more than ordinary pains upon her

person, wore a yellow satin sack embroidered with little dots of

gold. She had large pearl earrings, a garnet necklace, and a diamond

solitaire. Her complexion, which was naturally rather high, had been

corrected by white French powder, and was further set off with abundance

of little patches on her checks, neck, and shoulders. She carried a

beautiful Indian fan, the handle of which was ornamented with precious

stones.

She had arrived in great state, a gilt chariot lined with pale blue

satin, hired for her from a coachmaker, by Mr. Rathbone, having formed

her conveyance; and she was attended by a couple of footmen out of

place, likewise hired for the occasion, habited in superb liveries of

sky-blue cloth trimmed with silver, with silver shoulder-knots, and

point d’Espagne hats.

Mr. Rathbone, who accompanied her, was dressed in a suit of purple

velvet, laced with gold. Almost bewildered by the grandeur she beheld

around, the widow was led upstairs by Mr. Cripps; her wonder increased

at every step she took. The two long-eared spaniels and the macaw

enchanted her; but she actually screamed with delight on beholding the

monkey, in his little scarlet coat and bag-wig.

Coffee, chocolate, and champagne were then handed round by Antoine and

the page; and while this was going on, the clergyman and his assistant

were announced.

Doctor Gaynam had a much more respectable appearance than when he

officiated at Sir Singleton Spinke’s marriage. He was dressed in his

full canonicals, and wore a well-powdered full-bottomed wig, which Peter

Pokerich would not have disdained.

Meanwhile Mr. Cripps had seated himself by the bride on one of the

couches, and was talking very tenderly to her, when he perceived his

uncle approach Mr. Rathbone, as if with the intention of addressing him.

He instantly arose, and taking the latter aside, whispered a few words

to him, and then, having accomplished his object, which was to prevent

any communication between him and Mr. Jukes, told the clergyman to

proceed with the ceremony.

Doctor Gaynam was sipping a glass of usquebaugh, but he hastily

gulped it down, and declared himself perfectly ready. He then took a

prayer-book from the clerk, and stationed himself between the windows,

motioning the others to take their places before him.

[[[MR. CRIPPS DETECTED]]]

All was soon arranged. Peter Pokerich and the fair Thomasine stood near

the bride; Mr. Rathbone near the bridegroom; Antoine behind him; while

the group was completed by the two Africans, who had mounted a settee in

the corner, to obtain a full view of the ceremony. The page was on the

floor keeping the dogs quiet, who were quarrelling with the monkey, and

biting its tail.

Just as Doctor Gaynam had opened his book, and uttered a preliminary

cough, a noise was heard at the door, and Mr. Cripps, turning to see

what was the matter, beheld it open, and admit his master.

[Illustration: 0389]

The valet’s alarm was instantly communicated to the whole assemblage.

Antoine shrugged his shoulders, and lifted up his hands in affright.

The two Africans exchanged glances of alarm, and all eyes were directed

towards the beau, who with angry looks, and grasping his clouded

cane, marched towards the valet. He was followed by Lady Brabazon, Sir

Bulkeley Price, and Trussell Beechcroft.

Lady Brabazon was attended by her black page, leading her dog by a

riband, and this arrival excited the anger of one of the spaniels, whose

furious barking set the macaw screaming.

Mr. Cripps presented a very chopfallen appearance. All his assurance

deserted him. His hands dropped to his side, and he scarcely dared to

meet his master’s angry gaze.

‘Rascal!’ exclaimed Villiers, ‘I have at last fairly detected you. I’ll

teach you to put on my clothes--to assume my name----’

‘What!’ screamed Mrs. Nettleship, dropping a bottle of salts which she

had placed to her nose--‘isn’t it really himself--isn’t it Mr. Willars?’

‘No, madam,’ replied the beau--‘I am Mr. Villiers; and this rascal is

only my valet, Crackenthorpe Cripps.’

‘This looks like the real gentleman, I must say,’ cried Mr. Rathbone,

who was thunderstruck with surprise.

‘Oh, the villain!--the base deceiver!--the impostor!’ shrieked Mrs.

Nettleship, clenching her hands, and regarding the valet as if she would

annihilate him. ‘I’ll tear his eyes out! To deceive and expose me in

this way--to--to--to--oh! I shall never survive it. Support me!’ she

added, falling into the arms of the fair Thomasine.

‘This is really too bad of you, sir,’ said Mr. Cripps, who began to

recover himself a little. ‘You’ve deceived _me_. I thought you were at

Newmarket.’

‘I received information of your practices, rascal,’ replied the beau,

‘and resolving to see to what extent you carried them, I only went to

a short distance from town, and then returned with Sir Bulkeley Price,

with whom I have remained till now. And a pretty discovery I’ve made,

i’faith! My house filled with company--my servants turned into your

servants--a dinner, supper, confectionery, wine, fruit, musicians, and

the devil knows what, ordered at my expense.’

‘Well, they’re not thrown away, sir,’ replied Mr. Cripps.

‘You can marry the lady yourself, if you think proper. I’ve no doubt

she’ll consent to the exchange, and she has fifty thousand pounds.’

‘Oh, the impudence!’ exclaimed Mrs. Nettleship, jumping up.

‘I’ll not be taken in a second time. I’ll be revenged on all the sex!’

‘You are not aware, Mr. Willars, of the extensive frauds this rascal has

practised upon you,’ said Mr. Rathbone. ‘He has actually signed a bond

for five thousand pounds in your name, which I have in my pocket.’

‘The devil he has!’ exclaimed Villiers.

‘But it is of no effect, since the marriage has not taken place,’ said

Mr. Cripps; ‘and if Mr. Villiers chooses to take the lady, he will of

course pay you himself.’

In spite of himself, the beau could not help laughing.

‘Bad as Mr. Cripps is, he is not worse than the other party,’ said

Trussell, stepping forward; ‘while he was duping them, they tried to

dupe him. I understand from Mr. Jukes, who has it on unquestionable

authority, that Mrs. Nettleship, so far from being a wealthy widow, is

greatly in debt, while her friend there, Mr. Rathbone, hoped to pocket

the five thousand pounds secured by the bond he has mentioned.’

‘Gadso! then it seems I’ve had an escape!’ cried Mr. Cripps.

‘You have,’ replied Trussell; ‘and your uncle would have told you all

this before, if you had not kept him at a distance.’

‘I won’t stay here to be laughed at!’ cried the widow, looking defiance

at the jeering countenances around her. ‘Mr. Rathbone, your arm. I’ll

make you marry me yourself, or pay the penalty of the contract,’ she

added, in a whisper.

‘You’ll not mistake a valet for a gentleman after this, Monsieur

Rathbone,’ said Antoine--‘ha! ha!’

‘You had better go away by the back stairs,’ said Trussell, stopping

them; ‘for there are a couple of officers in the hall waiting to arrest

you!’

‘Curse on it! I sent them myself!’ said Mr. Rathbone, ‘to compel the

rascal I supposed to be Mr. Wiliars to pay your debts.’

And hurrying out of the room, he acted upon Trussell’s suggestion.

‘And now, rascal,’ said the beau to the valet, ‘you are no longer in my

service--I discharge you. And you may thank your stars that I let you

off so easily.’

‘I was about to discharge _you_. sir,’ rejoined the valet,

impertinently. ‘I don’t desire to live with a gentleman who takes his

servants by surprise. He’s as bad as a jealous husband.’

‘Stay!’ cried the beau--‘you don’t leave me in that way. Antoine, stand

by him. Now, sir, take off that peruke--take it off carefully--now the

sword.’

The orders were obeyed, and the wig and sword delivered to the French

valet.

‘Now take off the coat.’ Mr. Cripps complied with a sigh.

‘Now the waistcoat.’ The order was obeyed.

‘Now the cravat.’ And it was taken off.

‘Now the diamond buckles.’

‘Anything else?’ inquired Mr. Cripps, as he gave up the buckles.

‘Recollect there are ladies in the room, sir.’

‘Yes; take yourself off,’ rejoined the beau.

Even thus shorn of his splendour, Mr. Cripps maintained his customary

assurance. He bowed profoundly and gracefully round, and quitted the

room amid the laughter of the company.

[[[ABEL BEECHCROFT DISCOVERING THE MISER IN THE CELLAR--DEATH OF THE

MISER]]]

|No sooner, however, was one source of dread removed, than another was

aroused. His hoards might be gone! Terrified by this idea, he flew to

all his hiding-places, and placed their contents on the table. His dim

eyes sparkled with unnatural brilliancy as he gloated over them.

While telling over the pieces, and weighing them in his hand, a new

recollection crossed him. Snatching up the candle, he hurried to a small

cupboard at one side of the room, at the bottom of which lay a heap

of old rags and rubbish, apparently put there out of the way. Hastily

removing this dusty pile, some half dozen leathern bags were exposed to

view.

‘Here they are--here they are!’ he exclaimed, with a cry of childish

delight. ‘Oh, my darlings!--my treasures!---how glad I am to see you.

You give me new life. Talk of physic--pshaw! there is none like gold.

The sight of it cures me in an instant. I feel well--quite well; no, not

quite,’ he added, as a sudden giddiness seized him, and he had to

catch at the closet door for support; ‘not quite well; but better--much

better. What a memory mine must be to forget these bags--each containing

two hundred guineas--that’s twelve hundred! Twelve hundred guineas! and

I had forgotten them. I hope I have not forgotten anything else. Let me

see--oh! my head!--my head!’ he continued, shaking it mournfully. ‘My

memory’s clean gone!--clean gone! But what shall I do with these bags?

they’re not safe here. Jacob may find them in clearing the room. I’ll

hide them in the cellar with the other treasure.’

Utterly forgetful that the chest had been removed, he immediately set

about executing his design.

Listening at the door to hear that all was still, he took up two of the

bags with the intention of carrying them downstairs; but finding them

too heavy for him, he was obliged to content himself with one, and thus

in transporting them all to the cellar, he had to perform six journeys.

The last had nearly proved fatal, for as he tottered down the cellar

steps, he missed his footing, and rolled to the bottom.

With some difficulty he got up again; but heedless of the bruises he had

received, he picked up his candle, which was extinguished in the fall,

and returned to his bedchamber to light it at the fire. This done, he

procured the shovel, and repairing to the cellar commenced his task.

In his present state of debility and exhaustion, it cost him infinite

labour to get up the bricks, and he was frequently obliged to

desist from the toil and rest himself; but though he shook in every

limb--though thick damps burst from every pore, he still persevered.

Having got out the bricks, he carefully scraped off the surface of the

loose sandy soil. Surprised that the spade met with no resistance, his

alarm was instantly excited, and he plunged it deeply into the ground.

But no chest was there!

For a few minutes he stood transfixed with despair. It never occurred

to him that he had himself removed his treasure, but he concluded he had

been robbed of it.

At length his anguish found vent in a piercing cry, and he rushed

towards the door with the intention of calling up Jacob; but the

recollection that forced itself upon him, that the porter was from home,

checked him.

Other imperfect ideas thronged upon his bewildered brain. A glimmering

recollection of digging up the chest crossed him, but he fancied he

must have taken out its contents and buried them deeper in the ground.

Somewhat calmed by the idea, he commenced digging anew with frightful

ardour, and soon cleared out the soil to nearly the depth of three feet.

But as he found nothing, his apprehensions returned with new force and

paralysed his efforts.

Throwing aside the spade, he groped about in the sandy soil with his

hands, in the hopes of finding a few pieces of gold. A single piece

would have satisfied him; but there was none--nothing but little pebbles

mixed with the sand. His moans, while thus employed, were truly piteous.

At this juncture, his candle, which had long been expiring in the

socket, went out, leaving him in total darkness. A mortal faintness

seized him at the same time. He tried to get out of the hole, but fell

back with the effort--his head striking against the bricks. He struggled

to get up again, but in vain--his limbs refused their office. He tried

to cry out for help, but a hollow rattling sound alone issued from his

throat.

At length, by a convulsive effort, he did contrive to lift his head

from the ground; but that was all he could do. His hands clutched

ineffectually at the sandy soil; his frame was powerless; and a stifled

groan broke from his lips. But this condition was too horrible for

long endurance. The muscles of the neck relaxed; his head fell heavily

backwards; and after a gasp or two, respiration ceased.

Thus died this unhappy man, unattended, in a cellar, half entombed in

the hole digged as a hiding-place for a portion of his wealth--wealth

for which he had sacrificed all his comforts, all his feelings, all his

affections, and for which alone of late he had seemed to live. Thus he

perished--a fearful example of the effects of the heart-searing vice of

which he was the slave and the victim.

After some little consideration, Abel went up alone to the miser’s room,

and knocking two or three times, and receiving no answer, opened the

door. Approaching the bed, he found it empty, with the clothes turned

down, as left by the miser; and casting a hurried glance into the closet

to satisfy himself that no person was there, he hastily ran downstairs

to Hilda, to acquaint her with the alarming discovery he had made.

She was greatly terrified; but after a moment’s reflection, suggested

that her father might possibly have gone down to the cellar, and related

the circumstance which she herself had once witnessed there.

Concurring in the opinion, Abel offered immediately to go in search of

him; and dissuading Hilda, who secretly shared his worst apprehensions,

from accompanying him, took a candle and descended to the cellar.

As he entered the vault, he indistinctly perceived a ghastly object; and

springing forward, held up the light, so as to reveal it more fully. His

fancy had not deceived him. There, in a grave--evidently digged by his

own hands--lay his old enemy--dead--dead!

[Illustration: 0397]

While Abel was wrapt in contemplation of this miserable spectacle, and

surrendering himself to the thoughts which it inspired, heavy steps were

heard behind him, and Jacob rushed into the cellar.

‘Where is he?’ cried the porter, in accents of alarm. ‘Has anything

happened? Ha! I see.’

And pushing past Abel Beechcroft, he precipitated himself into the hole

with his master.

‘All’s over with him,’ he cried, in a voice of agony and self-reproach,

and grasping the cold hand of the corpse. ‘This would never have

happened if I had been at home. I’m in a manner his murderer.’

‘Another hand than yours has been at work here, Jacob,’ said Abel; ‘and

terrible as your poor master’s fate has been, it may prove a salutary

lesson to others. There he lies, who a few hours ago was the possessor

of useless thousands, the value of which he knew not--nay, the very

existence of which he knew not--for the few bags of gold beside him were

the only palpable treasure he owned.

[[[DISPERSION OF THE JACOBITE CLUB, AND DEATH OF CARDWELL FIREBRAS--THE

SUMMER-HOUSE AT THE CHEQUERS--THE OLD MILL--THE JACOBITES BETRAYED]]]

|A glance satisfied Firebras that all was right, and he returned slowly

to the house, the landlord stamping upon the floor as he quitted the

building, as a signal to the grenadiers that they might now come forth

from their concealment. On reaching the house, Firebras dismissed the

landlord, and going up to Randulph, clapped him on the shoulder, and

said, ‘I have rare news for you.’

‘And I have rare news for you,’ replied the other.

‘Hear mine first!’ cried Firebras. ‘What if I tell you I am come to

offer you your estates and the hand of Hilda, if you join the Jacobite

party?’

‘There would be no use in joining you now!’ returned Randulph.

‘You think I’m trifling with you!’ cried Firebras, producing a packet;

‘but this will speak to the contrary. Here is the assignment of your

estates to Isaac Isaacs. A receipt in full of all claims is attached to

it. The deed is yours, provided you join us.’

‘You amaze me,’ cried Randulph, gazing at the packet; ‘that is

unquestionably the deed I executed.’

‘Most certainly it is,’ replied Firebras. ‘It is too long a story to

tell you how I became possessed of it,’ he added, replacing it in his

pocket, ‘but I have other intelligence for you. Mr. Scarve is dead!’

Randolph uttered an exclamation of surprise.

‘He died last night,’ pursued Firebras, ‘and left his property to Philip

Frewin, in case of Hilda’s refusal to marry him.’

‘But Philip may not live to claim the fulfilment of the condition,’

cried Randulph.

‘Philip, also, is dead,’ replied Firebras. And smiling at Randulph’s

astonishment, he added, ‘Now you see that all is in your grasp. Fate

has given you the lady of your love. I offer you your fortune. Can you

refuse to join us?’

‘Mr. Firebras,’ said Randulph, composing himself, ‘this is not the time

to put such a question to me.’

‘Pardon me,’ cried Firebras sternly, ‘I must have an answer now--at this

moment--or you lose your estates and Hilda for ever. Do not suppose I

threaten lightly. I can, and will, make good my words.’

‘You mistake me altogether,’ rejoined Randulph. ‘I mean to say it would

be useless for me to assent. You are betrayed.’

‘Betrayed!’ exclaimed Firebras, in a voice of thunder. ‘How! by whom?

But this is a mere assertion made to turn me from my purpose.’

‘You will find it too true,’ replied Randulph. ‘The house is environed

on all sides by grenadiers.’

‘I have just visited the summer-house,’ said Firebras. ‘There was no one

there.’

‘The men were concealed in a lower chamber,’ said Randulph.

‘It’ may be so,’ cried Firebras, with a terrible imprecation. ‘But they

shall not take me easily. My pistols! ha! they have been removed! The

landlord, then, is our betrayer.’

‘He is,’ replied Randulph. ‘Your only chance of escape is apparent

unconsciousness of the design. You might perhaps make good your own

retreat--but the others----’

‘I will never desert them,’ said Firebras. ‘There is a boat at hand, for

I ordered Jacob Post to be in waiting for you off the summer-house, for

another purpose, and I caught a glimpse of him just now. Ha! here come

our friends.’ And, as he spoke, Sir Norfolk Salusbury, Sir Bulkeley

Price, Father Verselyn, Mr. Travers, and four or five other gentlemen

entered the room.

‘Leave us, landlord,’ said Firebras; ‘we will call you when we want

you.’ And the order being obeyed, he bolted the door. ‘We are betrayed,

gentlemen,’ said Firebras, in a low tone; ‘the house is surrounded by

guards, and our retreat is cut off by the river.’

As the words were uttered, the door was tried by some persons without,

who, finding it fastened, proceeded to burst it open. ‘To the garden! to

the garden!’ cried Firebras. And the party made for the window.

Before, however, the whole of them could pass through it, the officer

and a party of grenadiers burst open the door, and endeavoured to seize

them.

Firebras and the others, with the exception of Randulph, drew off.

[[[DEATH OF TUE JACOBITE CLUB, AND OF CARDWELL FIREBRAS--DISPERSION]]]

|The Miser’s Daughter their swords, and the next instant an encounter

took place. But, as all was buried in darkness, little mischief was

done. In spite of the efforts of the soldiers to prevent them, five or

six of the Jacobites contrived to get across the ditch, and gaining

the mill, took shelter within it. They were followed by a party of

grenadiers, who fired a few shots at them. Whether the circumstance

was the result of accident or design is immaterial, but a few minutes

afterwards the mill was found to be on fire. Flames burst from the

upper windows, throwing a fierce glare on the groups below, and brightly

illumining the towers of Westminster Abbey.

Repeated loud explosions were next heard, threatening each moment to

shake the mill to pieces; while some of the unfortunate Jacobites were

seen springing from a side window upon the waterwheel, and trying to

descend by it. Two others, at the risk of breaking their necks, dropped

from a window facing the river, and endeavoured to gain the vessel

moored beside it. The fugitives on the water-wheel were held in check

by a party of grenadiers, who, having thrown a couple of planks over the

little stream, were enabled to reach them.

Meanwhile, favoured by the previous darkness, for all was now as bright

as day, Firebras, Salusbury, and the rest of the Jacobites made good

their retreat as far as the summer-house. Some of them even managed to

force their way to the platform. Here a desperate struggle took place,

in which Sir Norfolk was severely wounded in the side by a bayonet.

By this time the fire had broken out in the mill, and its glare showed

Jacob at a little distance in a skiff. Notwithstanding the menaces of

the soldiers, who pointed their guns at him, and threatened to fire if

he approached nearer, Jacob pushed resolutely towards the summer-house.

[Illustration: 0405]