The sum allowed by Messrs. Quirk and Gammon to Titmouse, was amply sufficient to have kept him in comfort; but it never would have enabled him to lead the kind of life which I have described—and he would certainly have got very awkwardly involved, had it not been for the kindness of Snap in advancing him, from time to time, such sums as his exigencies required. In fact, matters went on as quietly and smoothly as possible for several months—till about the middle of November; when an event occurred which seemed to threaten the total demolition of all his hopes and expectations.

He had not seen or heard from Messrs. Quirk or Gammon for nearly a fortnight; Snap he had not seen for nearly a week. At length he ventured to make his appearance at Saffron Hill, and was received with a startling coldness—a stern abruptness of manner—which frightened him out of his wits. All the three partners were alike—as for Snap, the contrast between his present and his former manner, was perfectly shocking: he seemed quite another person. The fact was, that the full statement of Titmouse's claims had been laid before Mr. Subtle, the leading counsel retained in his behalf, for his opinion on the case generally, before actually commencing proceedings; and the partners were indeed thunderstruck on receiving that opinion; for Mr. Subtle pointed out a radical deficiency of proof in a matter which, as soon as their attention was thus pointedly called to it, Messrs. Quirk and Gammon were amazed at their having overlooked, and still more at its having escaped the notice of Mr. Tresayle, Mr. Mortmain, and Mr. Frankpledge. Mr. Quirk hurried with the opinion to the first two of these gentlemen; and after a long interview with each, they owned their fears that Mr. Subtle was right, and that the defect seemed incurable; but they easily satisfied their agitated clients, that they—the aforesaid Messrs. Tresayle and Mortmain—had been guilty of neither oversight nor ignorance, inasmuch as the matter in question was one of evidence only—one which a nisi prius lawyer, with a full detail of "proofs" before him, could hardly fail to light upon—but which, it would be found, had been assumed, and taken for granted, in the cases laid before conveyancers. They promised, however, to turn it over in their minds, and to let Messrs. Quirk and Gammon know if anything occurred to vary their impression. A week elapsed, however, and Mr. Tresayle and Mr. Mortmain preserved an ominous silence. As for Frankpledge, he had a knack, somehow or another, of always coming to the conclusion wished and hoped for by his clients; and, after prodigious pains, he wrote a very long opinion, to show that there was nothing in the objection. Neither Mr. Quirk nor Mr. Gammon could understand the process by which Mr. Frankpledge arrived at such a result; but, in despair, they laid his opinion before Mr. Subtle, in the shape of a further "Case for his Opinion." It was in a few days' time returned to them, with only a line or two—thus:—

"I see no reason whatever to depart from the view I have already taken of this case.—J. S."

Here was something like a dead lock, indeed!

"We're done, Gammon!" said Quirk, with a dismayed air. Gammon seemed lost, and made no answer.

"Does anything—eh?" quoth Quirk, with a troubled air. "Anything occur to you? Gammon, I will say this for you—you're a long-headed fellow!" Still Gammon spoke not.

"Gammon! Gammon! I really believe—ah?—you—you—begin to see something—don't you?"

"It's to be DONE, Mr. Quirk!" said Gammon, at length, with a grave and apprehensive look, and a cheek which had suddenly grown pale.

"Eh? how? Oh, I see!—Know what you mean, Gammon," replied Quirk, with a hurried whisper, glancing at both doors to see that they were safe.

"We must resume our intercourse with Titmouse, and let matters go on as before," said Gammon, with a very anxious, but, at the same time, a determined air.

"I—I wonder if what has occurred to you is what has occurred to me?" inquired Quirk, in an eager whisper.

"Pooh! pooh! Mr. Quirk."

"Gammon, dear Gammon, no mystery! You know I have a very deep stake in this matter!"

"So have I, Mr. Quirk," replied Gammon, with a sigh. "However"—Here the partners put their heads close together, and whispered to each other in a low, earnest tone, for some minutes. Quirk rose from his seat, and took two or three turns about the room in silence, Gammon watching him calmly.

To his inexpressible relief and joy, within a few hours of the happening of the above colloquy, Titmouse found himself placed on precisely his former footing with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap.

In order to bring on the cause for trial at the next spring assizes, it was necessary that the declaration in ejectment should be served on the tenant in possession before Hilary term; and, in a matter of such magnitude, it was deemed expedient that Snap should proceed to Yorkshire, and personally effect the service in question. In consequence, also, of some very important suggestions as to the evidence, given by the junior in the cause, (Mr. Lynx,) it was arranged that Snap should go down about a week before the time fixed upon for effecting the service, and make quietly certain minute inquiries in the neighborhood of Yatton. As soon as Titmouse had heard of this movement—that Snap was going direct to Yatton, the scene of his, Titmouse's, future greatness—he made the most pertinacious and vehement entreaties to Messrs. Quirk and Gammon to be allowed to accompany him, even going down on his knees. There was no resisting this; but they exacted from him a solemn pledge that he would place himself entirely at the disposal of Mr. Snap; go under some feigned name, and, in short, neither say nor do anything tending to disclose their real character or errand.

Snap and Titmouse established themselves at the Hare and Hounds Inn at Grilston; and the former immediately began, cautiously and quietly, to collect such evidence as he could discover. One of the first persons to whom he went was old Blind Bess. His many pressing questions at length stirred up in the old woman's mind faint confused recollections of long-forgotten names, persons, places, scenes, and associations, thereby producing an agitation not easily to be got rid of, and which had by no means subsided when Dr. Tatham and Mr. Aubrey paid her the Christmas-day visit, which has been described.



CHAPTER XI.

The reader has had, already, pretty distinct indications of the manner in which Titmouse and Snap conducted themselves during their stay in Yorkshire; and which, I fear, have not tended to raise either of these gentlemen in the reader's estimation. Titmouse manifested a very natural anxiety to see the present occupants of Yatton; and it was with infinite difficulty that Snap could prevent him from sneaking about in the immediate neighborhood of the Hall, with the hope of seeing them. His first encounter with Mr. and Miss Aubrey was entirely accidental, as the reader may remember; and when he found that the lady on horseback near Yatton, and the lady whom he had striven to attract the notice of in Hyde Park, were one and the same beautiful woman, and that that beautiful woman was neither more nor less than the sister of the present owner of Yatton—the marvellous discovery created a mighty pother in his little feelings. The blaze of Kate Aubrey's beauty in an instant consumed the images both of Tabitha Tag-rag and Dora Quirk. It even for a while outshone the splendors of ten thousand a-year: such is the inexpressible and incalculable power of woman's beauty over everything in the shape of man—over even so despicable a sample of him, as Tittlebat Titmouse.

While putting in practice some of those abominable tricks to which, under Snap's tutelage, Titmouse had become accustomed in walking the streets of London, and from which even the rough handling they had got from farmer Hazel could not turn him, Titmouse at length, as has been seen, most unwittingly fell foul of that fair creature, Catherine Aubrey herself; who seemed truly like an angelic messenger, returning from her errand of sympathy and mercy, and suddenly beset by a little imp of darkness. When Titmouse discovered who was the object of his audacious and revolting advances, his soul (such as it was) seemed petrified within him; and it was fortunate that the shriek of Miss Aubrey's attendant at length startled him into a recollection of a pair of heels, to which he was that evening indebted for an escape from a most murderous cudgelling, which might have been attended with one effect not contemplated by him who inflicted it, (so profoundly in the dark are we as to the causes and consequences of human actions;) viz. the retention of the Aubreys in the possession of Yatton! Titmouse ran for nearly half a mile on the high-road towards Grilston, without stopping. He dared not venture to return to Yatton, with the sound of the lusty farmer's voice in his ears, to get back from the Aubrey Arms the horse which had brought him that afternoon from Grilston, to which place, therefore, he walked on, through the snow and darkness; reaching his inn in a perfect panic, from which, at length, a tumbler of stiff brandy and water, with two or three cigars, somewhat relieved him. Forgetful of the solemn pledge which he had given to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, not to disclose his name or errand, and it never once occurring to him that if he would but keep his own counsel, Miss Aubrey could never identify him with the ruffian who had assailed her; Titmouse spent the interval between eight and twelve o'clock, at which latter hour the coach by which he had resolved to return to London would pass through Grilston, in inditing the following letter to Miss Aubrey:—

"Grilston, January 6th, 18—. "HONORED MISS,

"Hoping No Offence Will Be Taken where None is meant, (which am Sure of,) This I send To say Who I Am which, Is the Right And True Owner of Yatton which You Enjoy Amongst You All At This present (Till The Law Give it to Me) Which It quickly Will, and No Mistake, And which It Ought to Have done When I were First born And Before Y^r Respect^e. Family ever Came into it, And All which Y^r hon^d. Brother Have so unlawfully Got Possession Of must Come Back to Them Whose Due It is w^h Is myself as will be Soon prov^d. And w^h am most truely Sorry Of on your own Acc^t. (Meaning (hon^d. Miss) you Alone) as Sure As Yatton is Intirely Mine So My Heart Is yours and No Longer my Own Ever since I Saw You first as Can Easily prove but w^h doubtless You Have forgot Seeing You Never New, because (as Mr. Gammon, My Solliciter And a Very Great Lawyer, says) Cases Alter Circumstances, what Can I say More Than that I Love you Most Amazing Such As Never Thought Myself Capable of Doing Before and w^h cannot help Ever Since I First saw your most Lovely and Divine and striking Face w^h have Stuck In my Mind Ever Since Day and Night Sleeping and Waking I will Take my Oath Never Of Having Lov'd Any one Else, Though (must Say) have Had a Wonderful Many Offers From Females of The Highest Rank Since my Truely Wonderful Good fortune got Talked About every Where but have Refused Them All for y^r sake, And Would All the World But you. When I Saw You on Horseback It was All my Sudden confusion In Seeing you (the Other Gent. was One of my Resp^e Solicitors) w^h Threw Me off in that Ridiculous Way w^h was a Great Mortification And made My brute Of A horse go on so, For I Remembered You and was Wonderful struck with Your Improv'd Appearance (As that Same Gent. can Testify) And you was (Hon^d. Miss) Quite Wrong To Night when You Spoke so Uncommon Angry To Me, seeing If I Had Only Known What Female It Was (meaning yourself which I respect So) out so Late Alone I should Have spoke quite Different So hope You Will think Nothing More Of that Truely Unpleasant Event Now (Hon^d. Madam) What I have to say Is if You will Please to Condescend To Yield To My Desire We Can Live Most uncommon Comfortable at Yatton Together w^h Place shall Have Great Pleasure (if you please) in Marrying You From and I may (perhaps) Do Something handsome for y^r. respectable Brother and Family, w^h can Often Come to see us And Live in the Neighborhood, if You Refuse me, Will not say What shall Happen to Those which (am Told) Owe me a Precious Long Figure w^h May (perhaps) Make a Handsome Abatement in, if You And I Hit it.

"Hoping You Will Forget What Have So Much Griev^d. me, And Write p^t. return of Post,

"Am, "hon^d. Miss "Y^r. most Loving & Devoted Servant "(Till Death) TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE. "PARTICULAR Private."

This exquisitely constructed document its accomplished writer sealed twice, and then left, together with sixpence, in the hands of the landlady of the Hare and Hounds, to be delivered at Yatton Hall the first thing in the morning. The good woman, however—having no particular wish to oblige such a strange puppy, whom she was only too glad to get rid of, and having moreover a good deal to attend to—laid the letter aside on the chimney-piece, and entirely lost sight of it for nearly a fortnight. Shortly after the lamentable tidings concerning the impending misfortunes of the Aubrey family had been communicated to the inhabitants of Grilston, she forwarded the letter, (little dreaming of the character in which its writer was likely, erelong, to reappear at Grilston,) together with one or two others, a day or two after Miss Aubrey had had the interview with her brother which I have described to the reader; but it lay unnoticed by any one—above all, by the sweet sufferer whose name was indicated on it—among a great number of miscellaneous letters and papers which had been suffered to accumulate on the library table.

Mr. Aubrey entered the library one morning, alone, for the purpose of attending to many matters which had been long neglected. He was evidently thinner: his face was pale, and his manner dejected: still there was about him an air of calmness and resolution. Through the richly-pictured old stained-glass window, the mottled sunbeams were streaming in a kind of tender radiance upon the dear familiar objects around him. All was silent. Having drawn his chair to the table, on which was lying a confused heap of letters and papers, he felt a momentary repugnance to enter upon the task which he had assigned to himself; and rose and walked slowly for some time up and down the room, with folded arms, uttering occasionally profound sighs. At length he resumed his seat, and commenced the disheartening task of opening the many letters before him. One of the earliest that came to his hand was from Peter Johnson—the old tenant to whom he had lent the sum of two hundred pounds, and it was full of fervent expressions of gratitude and respect; Mr. Aubrey's heart ached as he read them. Then came a letter, a fortnight old, bearing the frank of Lord C——, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. He opened it and read:—

"Whitehall, 16th January, 18—.

"My DEAR AUBREY,

"You will remember that Lord ——'s motion stands for the 28th. We all venture to calculate upon receiving your powerful support in the debate. We expect to be much pressed with the Duke of ——'s affair, which you handled shortly before the recess with such signal ability and success. When you return to town, you must expect a renewal of certain offers, which I most sincerely trust, for the benefit of the public service, will not be again declined.

"Ever yours faithfully, "C——. "(Private and confidential.) "CHARLES AUBREY, Esq. M. P."

Mr. Aubrey laid down the letter calmly, as soon as he had read it; and leaning back in his chair, seemed lost in thought for several minutes. Presently he reapplied himself to his task, and opened and glanced over a great many letters; the contents of several of which occasioned him deep emotion. Some were from persons in distress whom he had assisted, and who implored a continuance of his aid; others were from ardent political friends—some sanguine, others desponding—concerning the prospects of the session. Two or three hinted that it was everywhere reported that he had been offered one of the under secretaryships, and had declined; but that it was, at the king's desire, to be pressed upon him. Many letters were on private, and still more on county, business; and with one of them he was engaged when a servant entered with one of that morning's county newspapers. Tired with his task, Mr. Aubrey rose from his chair as the servant gave him the paper; and, standing before the fire, unfolded the Yorkshire Stingo, and glanced listlessly over its miscellaneous contents. At length his eye lit upon the following paragraph:—

"The rumors so deeply affecting a member for a certain borough in this county, and to which we alluded in our last paper but one, turn out to be well founded. A claimant has started up to the very large estates at present held by the gentleman in question; and we are much misinformed if the ensuing spring assizes will not effect a considerable change in the representation of the borough alluded to, by relieving it from the Tory thraldom under which it has been so long oppressed. We have no wish to bear hard upon a falling man; and, therefore, shall make no comment upon the state of mind in which that person may be presumed to be, who must be conscious of having been so long enjoying the just rights of others. Some extraordinary disclosures may be looked for when the trial comes on. We have heard from a quarter on which we are disposed to place reliance, that the claimant is a gentleman of decided Whig principles, and who will prove a valuable accession to the Liberal cause."[21]

Mr. Aubrey was certainly somewhat shocked by brutality such as this; but on Miss Aubrey's entering the room, he quietly folded up the paper and laid it aside, fearful lest his sister's feelings should be pierced by the coarse and cruel paragraph which it contained. It had, in fact, been concocted in London, in the office of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; who were, as before stated, interested in the Sunday Flash, which was in some sort connected, through the relationship of the editors, with the Yorkshire Stingo. The idea had been suggested by Gammon, by way of attempting to enlist the political feeling of a portion of the county, in favor of their client.

"Here are several letters for you, Kate," said her brother, picking out several of them. The very first she took up, it having attracted her attention by the double seal, and the vulgar style of the handwriting, was that from Titmouse, which has just been laid before the reader. With much surprise she opened the letter, her brother being similarly engaged with his own; and her face getting gradually paler and paler as she went on, at length she flung it on the floor with a passionate air, and burst into tears. Her brother, with astonishment, exclaimed—"Dear Kate, what is it?" and he rose and stooped to pick up the letter.

"Don't—don't, Charles!" she cried, putting her foot upon it, and flinging her arms round his neck. "It is an audacious letter—a vulgar, a cruel letter, dear Charles!" Her emotion increased as her thoughts recurred to the heartless paragraph concerning her brother with which the letter concluded. "I could have overlooked everything but that," said she, unwittingly. With gentle force he succeeded in getting hold of the painfully ridiculous and contemptible effusion. He attempted faintly to smile several times as he went on.

"Don't—don't, dearest Charles!" said she, passionately. "I can't bear it!—Don't smile!—It's very far from your heart; you do it only to assure me!"

Here Mr. Aubrey read the paragraph concerning himself. His face turned a little paler than before, and his lips quivered with suppressed emotion. "He is evidently a very foolish fellow!" he exclaimed, walking towards the window, with his back to his sister, whom he did not wish to see how much he was affected by so petty an incident.

"What does he allude to, Kate, when he talks of your having spoken angrily to him, and that he did not know you?" he inquired, after a few moments' pause, returning to her.

"Oh, dear!—I am so grieved that you should have noticed it—but since you ask I will not deceive you!" and she told him the disgusting occurrence alluded to in the letter. Mr. Aubrey drew himself up unconsciously as Kate went on, and she perceived him becoming still paler than before, and felt the kindling anger of his eye.

"Forget it—forget it, dearest Charles!—So despicable a being is really not worth a thought," said Kate, with increasing anxiety; for she had never in her life before witnessed her brother the subject of such powerful emotions as then made rigid his slender frame. At length drawing a long breath—

"It is fortunate for him, Kate," said he, calmly, "that he is not a gentleman, and that I endeavor to be—a Christian." She flung her arms round him, exclaiming, "There spoke my own noble brother!"

"I shall preserve this letter as a curiosity, Kate," said he, presently, and with a faint smile, and a pointed significance of manner, which arrested his sister's attention, he added,—"It is rather singular, but some time before you came in, I opened a letter in which your name is mentioned—I cannot say in a similar manner, and yet—in short, it is from Lord De la Zouch, enclosing one"——

Miss Aubrey suddenly blushed scarlet, and trembled violently.

"Don't be agitated, my dear Kate, the enclosure is from Lady De la Zouch; and if it be in the same strain of kindness that pervades Lord De la Zouch's letter to me"——

"I would rather that you opened and read it, Charles"—she faltered, sinking into a chair.

"Come, come, dear Kate—play the woman!" said her brother, with an affectionate air—"To say that there is nothing in these letters that I believe will interest you—very deeply gratify and interest your feelings—would be"——

"I know—I—I—suspect—I"—— faltered Miss Aubrey, with much agitation—"I shall return."

"Then you shall take these letters with you, and read, or not read them, as you like," said her brother, putting them into her hand with a fond and sorrowful smile, which soon, however, flitted away—and, leading her to the door, he was once more alone; and, after a brief interval of revery, he wrote answers to such of the many letters before him as he considered earliest to require them.

Notwithstanding the judgment and tenderness with which Dr. Tatham discharged the very serious duty which, at the entreaty of his afflicted friends, he had undertaken, of breaking to Mrs. Aubrey the calamity with which she and her family were menaced, the effects of the disclosure had been most disastrous. They occasioned an attack of paralysis; and Mr. Aubrey, who had long been awaiting the issue, in sickening suspense, in an adjoining room, was hastily summoned in to behold a mournful and heart-rending spectacle. His venerable mother—she who had given him life, at the mortal peril of her own; she whom he cherished with unutterable tenderness and reverence; she who doted upon him as upon the light of her eyes; from whose dear lips he had never heard a word of unkindness or severity; whose heart had never known an impulse but of gentle, noble, unbounded generosity towards all around her—this idolized being now lay suddenly prostrated and blighted before him——

Poor Aubrey yielded to his long and violent agony, in the presence of her who could apparently no longer hear or see, or be sensible of what was passing in the chamber.

"My son," said Dr. Tatham, after the first burst of his friend's grief was over, and he knelt down beside his mother with her hand grasped in his, "despise not the chastening of the Lord; neither be weary of his correction:

"For whom the Lord loveth, he correcteth, even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.

"The Lord will not cast off forever;

"But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.

"For he doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men."

It was with great difficulty that Dr. Tatham could render himself audible while uttering these soothing and solemn passages of Scripture in the ear of his distracted friend, beside whom he knelt.

Mrs. Aubrey had suffered a paralytic seizure, and lay motionless and insensible; her features slightly disfigured, but partially concealed beneath her long silvery gray hair, which had, in the suddenness of the fit, strayed from beneath her cap.

"But what am I about?" at length exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, with a languid and alarmed air—"has medical assistance"——

"Dr. Goddart and Mr. Whately are both sent for by several servants, and will doubtless be very quickly here," replied Dr. Tatham; and while he yet spoke, Mr. Whately—who, when hastened on by the servant who had been sent for him, was entering the park on a visit to young Mrs. Aubrey, who was also seriously ill and in peculiarly critical circumstances—entered the room, and immediately resorted to the necessary measures. Soon afterwards, also, Dr. Goddart arrived; but alas, how little could they do for the venerable sufferer!

During the next, and for many ensuing days, the lodge was assailed by very many anxious and sympathizing inquirers, who were answered by Waters, whom Mr. Aubrey—oppressed by the number of friends who hurried up to the Hall, and insisted upon seeing him to ascertain the extent to which the dreadful rumors were correct—had stationed there during the day to afford the requisite information. The Hall was pervaded by a gloom which could be felt. Every servant had a woe-begone look, and moved about as if a funeral were stirring. Little Charles and Agnes, almost imprisoned in their nursery, seemed quite puzzled and confused at the strange unusual seriousness, and quietness, and melancholy faces everywhere about them. Kate romped not with them as had been her wont; but would constantly burst into tears as she held them on her knee or in her arms, trying to evade the continual questioning of Charles. "I think it will be time for me to cry too, by-and-by!" said he to her one day, with an air half in jest and half in earnest, that made poor Kate's tears flow afresh. Sleepless nights and days of sorrow soon told upon her appearance. Her glorious buoyancy of spirits, which erewhile, as it were, had filled the whole Hall with gladness—where were they now? Ah, me! the rich bloom had disappeared from her beautiful cheek; but her high spirit, though oppressed, was not broken, and she stood firmly and calmly amid the scowling skies and lowering tempests. You fancied you saw her auburn tresses stirred upon her pale but calm brow by the breath of the approaching storm; and that she also felt it, but trembled not, gazing on it with a bright and steadfast eye. Her heart might be, indeed, bruised and shaken; but her spirit was, ay, unconquerable. My glorious Kate, how my heart goes forth towards you!

And thou, her brother, who art of kindred spirit; who art supported by philosophy, and exalted by religion, so that thy constancy cannot be shaken or overthrown by the black and ominous swell of trouble which is increasing and closing around thee, I know that thou wilt outlive the storm—and yet it rocks thee!

A month or two may see thee and thine expelled from Old Yatton, and not merely having lost everything, but with a liability to thy successor which will hang round thy neck like a millstone. What, indeed, is to become of you all? Whither will you go? And your suffering mother, should she indeed survive so long, is her precious form to be borne away from Yatton?

Around thee stand those who, if thou fallest, will perish—and that thou knowest; around thy calm, sorrowful, but erect figure, are a melancholy group—thy afflicted mother—the wife of thy bosom—thy two little children—thy brave and beautiful sister—Yet think not, Misfortune! that over this man thou art about to achieve thy accustomed triumphs. Here, behold, thou hast a MAN to contend with; nay, more, a CHRISTIAN MAN, who hath calmly girded up his loins against the coming fight!

'Twas Sabbath evening, some five weeks or so after the happening of the mournful events above commemorated, and Kate, having spent, as usual, several hours keeping watch beside the silent and motionless figure of her mother, had quitted the chamber for a brief interval, thinking to relieve her oppressed spirits by walking, for a little while, up and down the long gallery. Having slowly paced backwards and forwards once or twice, she rested against the little oriel window at the farthest extremity of the gallery, and gazed with saddened eye upon the setting sun, till at length, in calm grandeur, it disappeared beneath the horizon. 'Twas to Kate a solemn and mournful sign; especially followed as it was by the deepening shadows and gloom of evening. She sighed, and with her hands crossed on her bosom, gazed, with a tearful eye, into the darkening sky, where glittered the brilliant evening star. Thus she remained, a thousand pensive and tender thoughts passing through her mind, till the increasing chills of evening warned her to retire. "I will go," said she to herself, as she walked slowly along, "and try to play the evening hymn—I may not have many more opportunities!" With this view, she gently opened the drawing-room door, and, glancing around, found that she should be alone. The fire gave the only light. She opened the organ with a sigh, and then sat down before it for some minutes without touching the keys. At length she struck them very gently, as if fearful of disturbing those who, she soon recollected, were too distant to hear her. Ah! how many associations were stirred up as she played over the simple and solemn air! At length, in a low and rather tremulous voice, she began—

"Soon will the evening star, with silver ray, Shed its mild radiance o'er the sacred day; Resume we, then, ere night and silence reign, The rites which holiness and heaven ordain"——

She sang the last line somewhat indistinctly; and, overcome by a flood of tender recollections, ceased playing; then, leaning her head upon her hand, she shed tears. At length she resumed—

"Here humbly let us hope our Maker's smile Will crown with sweet success our earthly toil— And here, on each returning Sabbath, join"——

Here poor Kate's voice quivered—and after one or two ineffectual attempts to sing the next line, she sobbed, and ceased playing. She remained for several minutes, her face buried in her handkerchief, shedding tears. At length, "I'll play the last verse," thought she, "and then sit down before the fire, and read over the evening service," (feeling for her little prayer-book,) "before I return to poor mamma!" With a firmer hand and voice she proceeded—

"Father of Heaven! in whom our hopes confide, Whose power defends us, and whose precepts guide— In life our guardian, and in death our friend, Glory supreme be thine, till time shall end."

She played and sang these lines with a kind of solemn energy; and she felt as if a ray of heavenly light had trembled for a moment upon her upturned eye. She had not been, as she had supposed, alone; in the farthest corner of the room had been all the while sitting her brother—too exquisitely touched by the simplicity and goodness of his sweet sister, to apprise her of his presence. Several times his feelings had nearly overpowered him; and as she concluded, he arose from his chair, and approaching her, after her first surprise was over,—"Heaven bless you, dear Kate!" said he, taking her hands in his own. Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"I could not have sung a line, or played, if I had known that you were here," said she, tremulously.

"I thought so, Kate, and therefore I remained silent"—

"I don't think I shall ever have heart to play again!" she replied—they were both silent.

"Be assured, Kate, that submission to the will of God," said Mr. Aubrey, as (he with his arm round his sister) they walked slowly to and fro, "is the great lesson to be learned from the troubles of life; and for that purpose they are sent. Let us bear up awhile; the waters will not go over our heads!"

"I hope not," replied his sister, faintly, and in tears. "How did you leave Agnes, Charles?"

"She was asleep; she is still very feeble"—— Here the door was suddenly opened, and Miss Aubrey's maid entered hastily, exclaiming, "Are you here, ma'am?—or sir?"

"Here we are," they replied, hurrying towards her; "what is the matter?"

"Oh, Madam is talking! She began speaking all of a sudden. She did, indeed, sir. She's talking, and"—— continued the girl, almost breathless.

"My mother talking!" exclaimed Aubrey, with an amazed air.

"Oh yes, sir! she is—she is, indeed!"

Miss Aubrey sank into her brother's arms, overcome for a moment with the sudden and surprising intelligence.

"Rouse yourself, Kate!" he exclaimed with animation; "did I not tell you that Heaven would not forget us? But I must hasten up-stairs, to hear the joyful sounds with my own ears—and do you follow as soon as you can." Leaving her in the care of her maid, he hastened out of the room, and was soon at the door of his mother's chamber. He stood for a moment in the doorway, and his straining ears caught the gentle tones of his mother's voice, speaking in a low but cheerful tone. His knees trembled beneath him with joyful excitement. Fearful of trusting himself in her presence till he had become calmer, he noiselessly sank on the nearest chair, with beating heart and straining ear—ay, every tone of that dear voice thrilled through his heart. But I shall not torture myself or my reader by dwelling upon the scene which ensued. Alas! the venerable sufferer's tongue was indeed loosed;—but reason had fled! He listened—he distinguished her words. She supposed that all her children—dead and alive—were romping about her; she spoke of him and his sister as she had spoken to them twenty years ago!

As soon as he had made this woful discovery, overwhelmed with grief, he staggered out of the room; and motioning his sister, who was entering, into an adjoining apartment, communicated to her, with great agitation, the lamentable condition of their mother.



CHAPTER XII.

The chief corner-stone suddenly found wanting in the glittering fabric of Mr. Titmouse's fortune, so that, to the eyes of its startled architects, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, it seemed momentarily threatening to tumble about their ears, was a certain piece of evidence which, being a matter-of-fact man, I should like to explain to the reader, before we get on any farther. In order, however, to do this effectually, I must go back to an earlier period in the history than has been yet called to his attention. I make no doubt, that by the superficial and impatient novel-reader, certain portions of what has gone before, and which could not fail of attracting the attention of long-headed people, as not likely to have been thrown in for nothing, (and therefore requiring to be borne in mind with a view to subsequent explanation,) have been entirely overlooked or forgotten. However this may be, I can fancy that the sort of reader whom I have in my eye, as one whose curiosity it is worth some pains to excite, and sustain, has more than once asked himself the following question, viz.—

How did Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, first come to be acquainted with the precarious tenure by which Mr. Aubrey held the Yatton property?—Why, it chanced in this wise.

Mr. Parkinson of Grilston, who has been already introduced to the reader, had succeeded to his father's first-rate business as a country attorney and solicitor in Yorkshire. He was a highly honorable, painstaking man, and deservedly enjoyed the entire confidence of all his numerous and influential clients. Some twelve years before the period at which this history commences, he had, from pure kindness, taken into his service an orphan boy of the name of Steggars, at first merely as a sort of errand-boy, and to look after the office. He soon, however, displayed so much sharpness, and acquitted himself so creditably in anything that he happened to be concerned in, a little above the run of his ordinary duties, that in the course of a year or two he became a sort of clerk, and sat and wrote at the desk it had formerly been his sole province to dust. Higher and higher did he rise, in process of time, in his master's estimation; and at length became quite a factotum—as such, acquainted with the whole course of business that passed through the office. Many interesting matters connected with the circumstances and connections of the neighboring nobility and gentry were thus constantly brought under his notice, and now and then set him thinking whether the knowledge thus acquired could not, in some way, and at some time or another, be turned to his own advantage; for I am sorry to say that he was utterly unworthy of the kindness and confidence of Mr. Parkinson, who little thought that in Steggars he had to deal with—a rogue in grain. Such being his character, and such his opportunities, this worthy had long made a practice of minuting down, from time to time, anything of interest or importance in the affairs of his betrayed master's clients—even laboriously copying long documents, when he thought them of importance enough for his purpose, and had the opportunity of doing so without attracting the attention of Mr. Parkinson. He thus silently acquired a mass of information which might have enabled him to occasion great annoyance, and even inflict serious injury; and the precise object he had in view, was either to force himself, hereafter, into partnership with his employer, (provided he could get regularly introduced into the profession,) or even compel his master's clients to receive him into their confidence, adversely to Mr. Parkinson; and make it worth his while to keep the secrets of which he had become possessed. So careful ought to be, and indeed generally are, attorneys and solicitors, as to the characters of those whom they thus receive into their employ. On the occasion of Mr. Aubrey's intended marriage with Miss St. Clair, with a view to the very liberal settlements which he contemplated, a full "Abstract" of his "Title" was laid by Mr. Parkinson before his conveyancer, in order to advise, and to prepare the necessary instruments. Owing to inquiries suggested by the conveyancer, additional statements were laid before him; and produced an opinion of a somewhat unsatisfactory description, from which I shall lay before the reader the following paragraph:—

"...There seems no reason for supposing that any descendant of Stephen Dreddlington is now in existence;[22] still, as it is by no means physically impossible that such a person may be in esse, it would unquestionably be most important to the security of Mr. Aubrey's title, to establish clearly the validity of the conveyance by way of mortgage, executed by Harry Dreddlington, and which was afterwards assigned to Geoffrey Dreddlington on his paying off the money borrowed by his deceased uncle; since the descent of Mr. Aubrey from Geoffrey Dreddlington would, in that event, clothe him with an indefeasible title at law, by virtue of that deed; and any equitable rights which were originally outstanding, would be barred by lapse of time. But the difficulty occurring to my mind on this part of the case is, that unless Harry Dreddlington, who executed that deed of mortgage, survived his father, (a point on which I am surprised that I am furnished with no information,) the deed itself would have been mere waste parchment, as in reality the conveyance of a person who never had any interest in the Yatton property—and, of course, neither Geoffrey Dreddlington, nor his descendant, Mr. Aubrey, could derive any right whatever under such an instrument. In that case, such a contingency as I have above hinted at—I mean the existence of any legitimate descendant of Stephen Dreddlington—might have a most serious effect upon the rights of Mr. Aubrey."

Now every line of this opinion, and also even of the Abstract of Title upon which it was written, did this quicksighted young scoundrel copy out, and deposit, as a great prize, in his desk, among other similar notes and memoranda,—little wotting his master, the while, of what his clerk was doing. Some year or two afterwards, the relationship subsisting between Mr. Parkinson and his clerk Steggars, was suddenly determined by a somewhat untoward event; viz. by the latter's decamping with the sum of L700 sterling, being the amount of money due on a mortgage which he had been sent to receive from a client of Mr. Parkinson's. Steggars fled for it—but first having bethought himself of the documents to which I have been alluding, and which he carried with him to London. Hot pursuit was made after the enterprising Mr. Steggars, who was taken into custody two or three days after his arrival in town, while he was walking about the streets, with the whole of the sum which he had embezzled, minus a few pounds, upon his person, in bank-notes. He was quickly deposited in Newgate. His natural sagacity assured him that his case was rather an ugly one; but hope did not desert him.

"Well, my kiddy," said Grasp, the grim-visaged, gray-headed turnkey, as soon as he had ushered Steggars into his snug little quarters; "here you are, you see—isn't you?"

"I think I am," replied Steggars, with a sigh.

"Well—and if you want to have a chance of not going across the water afore your time, you'll get yourself defended, and the sooner the better, d'ye see. There's Quirk, Gammon, and Snap—my eyes! how they do thin this here place of ours, to be sure! The only thing is to get 'em soon; 'cause, ye see, they're so run after. Shall I send them to you?"

Steggars answered eagerly in the affirmative. In order to account for this spontaneous good-nature on the part of Grasp, I must explain that old Mr. Quirk had for years secured a highly respectable criminal practice, by having in his interest most of the officers attached to the police-offices and Newgate. He gave, in fact, systematic gratuities to these gentry, in order to get their recommendations to the persecuted individuals who came into their power. Very shortly after Grasp's messenger had reached Saffron Hill, with the intelligence that "there was something new in the trap," old Quirk bustled down to Newgate, and was introduced to Steggars, with whom he was closeted for some time. He took a lively interest in his new client, to whose narrative of his flight and capture he listened in a very kind and sympathizing way, lamenting the severity of the late statute applicable to the case;[23] and promised to do for him whatever his little skill and experience could do. He hinted however, that, as Mr. Steggars must be aware, a little ready money would be required, in order to fee counsel—whereat Steggars looked very dismal indeed, and knowing the state of his exchequer, imagined himself already on shipboard, on his way to Botany Bay. Old Mr. Quirk asked him if he had no friends who would raise a trifle for a "chum in trouble,"—and on Mr. Steggars answering in the negative, he observed the enthusiasm of the respectable old gentleman visibly and rapidly cooling down.

"But I'll tell you what, sir," said poor Steggars, suddenly, "if I haven't money, I may have money's worth at my command;—I've a little box, that's at my lodging, which those that catched me knew nothing of—and in which there is a trifle or two about the families and fortunes of some of the first folk in the best part of Yorkshire, that would be precious well worth looking after, to those who know how to follow up such matters."

Old Quirk hereat pricked up his ears, and asked his young friend how he got possessed of such secrets.

"Oh fie! fie!" said he, gently, as soon as Steggars had told him the practices of which I have already put the reader in possession.

"Ah—you may say fie! fie! if you like," quoth Steggars, earnestly; "but the thing is, not how they were come by, but what can be done with them, now they're got. For example, there's a certain member of parliament in Yorkshire, that, high as he may hold his head, has no more right to the estates that yield him a good ten thousand a-year than I have, but keeps some folk out of their own, that could pay some other folk a round sum to be put in the way of getting their own;" and that—intimated the suffering captive—was only one of the good things he knew of. Here old Quirk rubbed his chin, hemmed, fidgeted about in his seat, took off his glasses, wiped them, replaced them; and presently went through that ceremony again. He then said that he had had the honor of being concerned for a great number of gentlemen in Mr. Steggars' "present embarrassed circumstances," but who had always been able to command at least a five-pound note, at starting, to run a heat for liberty.

"Come, come, old gentleman," quoth Steggars, earnestly, "I don't want to go over the water before my time, if I can help it, I assure you; and I see you know the value of what I've got! Such a gentleman as you can turn every bit of paper I have in my box into a fifty-pound note."

"All this is moonshine, my young friend," said old Quirk, in an irresolute tone and manner.

"Ah! is it, though? To be able to tell the owner of a fat ten thousand a-year, that you can spring a mine under his feet at any moment—eh?—and no one ever know how you came by your knowledge. And if they wouldn't do what was handsome, couldn't you get the right heir—and wouldn't that—Lord! it would make the fortunes of half-a-dozen of the first houses in the profession!" Old Quirk got a little excited.

"But mind, sir—you see"—said Steggars, "if I get off, I'm not to be cut out of the thing altogether—eh? I shall look to be taken into your employ, and dealt handsomely by"——

"Oh Lord!" exclaimed Quirk, involuntarily—adding quickly, "Yes, yes! to be sure! only fair; but let us first get you out of your present difficulty, you know!" Steggars, having first exacted from him a written promise to use his utmost exertions on his (Steggars') behalf, and secure him the services of two of the most eminent Old Bailey counsel—viz. Mr. Bluster and Mr. Slang—gave Mr. Quirk the number of the house where the precious box was, and a written order to the landlord to deliver it up to the bearer: after which Mr. Quirk shook him cordially by the hand, and having quitted the prison, made his way straight to the house in question, and succeeded in obtaining what he asked for. He faithfully performed his agreement, with Steggars; for he retained both Bluster and Slang for him, and got up their briefs with care: but, alas! although these eminent men exerted all their great powers, they succeeded not in either bothering the judge, bamboozling the jury, or browbeating the witnesses, (the principal one of whom was Mr. Parkinson;) Steggars was found guilty and sentenced to be transported for fourteen years.[24] Enraged at this issue, he sent a message the next day to Mr. Quirk, requesting a visit from him. When he arrived, Steggars, in a very violent tone, demanded that his papers should be returned to him. 'Twas in vain that Mr. Quirk explained to him again and again his interesting position with reference to his goods, chattels, and effects—i. e. that, as a convicted felon, he had no further concern with them, and might dismiss all anxiety on that score from his mind. Steggars hereat got more furious than before, and intimated plainly the course he should feel it his duty to pursue—viz. that, if the papers in question were not given up to him as he desired, he should at once write off to his late employer, Mr. Parkinson, and acknowledge how much more he (Steggars) had wronged that gentleman and his clients, than he supposed of. Old Quirk very feelingly represented to him that he was at liberty to do anything that he thought calculated to relieve his excited feelings: and then Mr. Quirk took a final farewell of his client, wishing him health and happiness.

"I say, Grasp!" said he, in a whisper, to that grim functionary, as soon as he had secured poor Steggars in his cell, "that bird is a little ruffled just now—isn't he, think you?"

"Lud, sir, that's the nat'ralist thing in the world, considering"——

"Well—if he should want a letter taken to any one, whatever he may say to the contrary, you'll send it on to Saffron Hill—eh? Understand?—He may be injuring himself, you know;" and old Quirk with one hand clasped the huge arm of Grasp in a familiar way, and with the forefinger of the other touched his own nose, and then winked his eye.

"All right!" quoth Grasp, and they parted. Within a very few hours' time, Mr. Quirk received, by the hand of a trusty messenger, from Grasp, a letter written by Steggars to Mr. Parkinson; a long and eloquent letter, to the purport and effect which Steggars had intimated. Mr. Quirk read it with much satisfaction, for it disclosed a truly penitent feeling, and a desire to undo as much mischief as the writer had done. He (Mr. Quirk) was not in the least exasperated by certain very plain terms in which his own name was mentioned; but making all due allowances, quietly put the letter in the fire as soon as he had read it. In due time Mr. Steggars, whose health had suffered from close confinement, caught frequent whiffs of the fresh sea-breeze, having set out, under most favorable auspices, for Botany Bay; to which distant but happy place, he had been thus fortunate in early securing an "appointment" for so considerable a portion of his life.

Such, then, were the miserable means by which Mr. Quirk became acquainted with the exact state of Mr. Aubrey's title; on first becoming apprised of which, Mr. Gammon either felt, or affected, great repugnance to taking any part in the affair. He appeared to suffer himself, at length, however, to be over-persuaded by Quirk into acquiescence; and, that point gained—having ends in view of which Mr. Quirk had not the least conception, and which, in fact, had but suddenly occurred to Mr. Gammon himself—worked his materials with a caution, skill, energy, and perseverance, which soon led to important results. Guided by the suggestions of acute and experienced counsel, after much pains and considerable expense, they had succeeded in discovering that precious specimen of humanity, Tittlebat Titmouse, who hath already figured so prominently in this history. When they came to set down on paper the result of all their researches and inquiries, in order to submit it in the shape of a case for the opinion of Mr. Mortmain and Mr. Frankpledge, in the manner described in a former part of this history, it looked perfect on paper, as many a faulty pedigree and abstract of title had looked before, and will yet look. It was quite possible for even Mr. Tresayle himself to overlook the defect which had been pointed out by Mr. Subtle. That which is stated to a conveyancer, as a fact—any particular event, for instance, as of a death, a birth, or a marriage, at a particular time or place, which the very nature of the case renders highly probable—he is warranted in assuming to be so. But when the same statement comes—with quite a different object—under the experienced eye of a nisi prius lawyer, who knows that he will have to prove his case, step by step, the aspect of things is soon changed. "De non apparentibus, et de non existentibus," saith the law, "eadem est ratio." The first practitioner in the common law, before whom the case came, in its roughest and earliest form, in order that he might "lick it into shape," and "advise generally" preparatory to its "being laid before counsel," was Mr. Traverse, a young pleader, whom Messrs. Quirk and Gammon were disposed to take by the hand. He wrote a very showy, but superficial and delusive opinion; and put the intended protege of his clients, as it were by a kind of hop, step, and jump, into possession of the Yatton estates. Quirk was quite delighted on reading it; but Gammon shook his head with a somewhat sarcastic smile, and said he would at once prepare a case for the opinion of Mr. Lynx, whom he had pitched upon as the junior counsel in any proceedings which might be instituted in a court of law. Lynx (of whom I shall speak hereafter) was an experienced, hard-headed, vigilant, and accurate lawyer; the very man for such a case, requiring, as it did, most patient and minute examination. With an eye fitted

"To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven,"

he crawled, as it were, over a case; and thus, even as one can imagine that a beetle creeping over the floor of St. Paul's, would detect minute flaws and fissures invisible to the eye of Sir Christopher Wren himself, spied out defects which much nobler optics would have overlooked. To come to plain matter-of-fact, however, I have beside me the original opinion written by Mr. Lynx; and shall treat the reader to a taste of it—giving him sufficient to enable him to appreciate the very ticklish position of affairs with Mr. Titmouse. To make it not altogether unintelligible, let us suppose the state of the pedigree to be something like this, (as far as concerns our present purpose:)—

(Dreddlington.) -+ (Harry Dreddlington.) (Charles Dreddlington.) + - (Stephen Dreddlington.) (Geoffrey Dreddlington.) ===================== ======================= (A female descendant (A female descendant marries marries _Gabriel Tittlebat_ CHARLES AUBREY, Esq., Titmouse_, through whom father of the present TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE possessor.) claims.)

Be pleased now, unlearned reader, to bear in mind that "Dreddlington" at the top of the above table, is the common ancestor, having two sons, the elder "Harry Dreddlington," the younger "Charles Dreddlington;" the latter having, in like manner, two sons, "Stephen Dreddlington" the elder son, and "Geoffrey Dreddlington" the younger son; that Mr. Aubrey, at present in possession, claims under "Geoffrey Dreddlington." Now it will be incumbent on Mr. Titmouse, in the first instance, to establish in himself a clear, independent, legal, and possessory title to the estates; it being sufficient for Mr. Aubrey, (possession being nine-tenths of the law), to falsify Titmouse's proofs, or show them defective—"because," saith a very learned sergeant, who hath writ a text-book upon the Action of Ejectment, "the plaintiff in an action of ejectment must recover upon the strength of his own title, not the weakness of his adversary's."[25]

Now, rebus sic stantibus, behold the astute Lynx advising (inter alia) in manner following; that is to say—

"It appears clear that the lessor of the plaintiff (i. e. Tittlebat Titmouse) will be able to prove that Dreddlington (the common ancestor) was seised of the estate at Yatton in the year 1740; that he had two sons, Harry and Charles, the former of whom, after a life of dissipation, appears to have died without issue; and that from the latter (Charles) are descended Stephen, the ancestor of the lessor of the plaintiff, and Geoffrey, the ancestor of the defendant. Assuming, therefore, that the descent of the lessor of the plaintiff from Stephen can be made out, as there appears every reason to expect, [on this point Lynx had written two brief pages,] a clear prima facie case will have been established on the part of the lessor of the plaintiff. As, however, it is suspected that Harry Dreddlington executed a conveyance in fee of the property, in order to secure the loan contracted by him from Aaron Moses, it will be extremely important to ascertain, and, if possible, procure satisfactory evidence that the decease of Harry Dreddlington occurred before the period at which, by his father's death, that conveyance could have become operative upon the property: since it is obvious that, should he have survived his father, that instrument, being outstanding, may form a complete answer to the case of the lessor of the plaintiff.[26] The danger will be obviously increased should the debt to Aaron Moses prove to have been paid off, (as it is stated was rumored to have been the fact,) by Geoffrey Dreddlington, the younger son of Charles Dreddlington; for, should that turn out to be the case, he would probably have taken a conveyance to himself, or to trustees for his benefit, from Aaron Moses—which being in the power of the defendant, Mr. Aubrey, would enable him to make out a title to the property, paramount to that now attempted to be set up on behalf of Mr. Titmouse. Every possible exertion, therefore, should be made to ascertain the precise period of the death of Harry Dreddlington. The registries of the various parishes in which the family may have at any time resided should be carefully searched; and an examination made in the churches and churchyards, of all tombstones, escutcheons, etc., belonging, or supposed to belong, to the Dreddlington family, and by which any light can be thrown upon this most important point. It appears clear that Dreddlington (the common ancestor) died on the 7th August, 1742:—the question, therefore, simply is, whether the death of his eldest son (Harry) took place prior or subsequent to that period. It is to be feared that the defendant may be in possession of some better and more direct evidence on this point than is attainable by the lessor of the plaintiff. The natural presumption would certainly seem to be that the son, being the younger and stronger man, was the survivor."[27]

The above-mentioned opinion of Mr. Lynx, together with that of Mr. Subtle entirely corroborating it, (and which was alluded to in a late chapter of this history,[28]) and a pedigree, were lying on the table, one day, at the office at Saffron Hill, before the anxious and perplexed partners, Messrs. Quirk and Gammon.

Gammon was looking attentively, and with a very chagrined air, at the pedigree; and Quirk was looking at Gammon.

"Now, Gammon," said the former, "just let me see again where the exact hitch is—eh? You'll think me perhaps infernally stupid, but—curse me if I can see it!"

"See it, my dear sir? Here, here!" replied Gammon, with sudden impatience, putting his finger two or three times to the words "Harry D."

"Lord bless us! Don't be so sharp with one, Gammon! I know as well as you that that's about where the crack is; but what is the precise thing we're in want of, eh?"

"Proof, my dear sir," replied Gammon, somewhat impatiently, but with a smile, "of the death of Harry Dreddlington some time—no matter when—previous to the 7th August, 1742; and in default thereof, Mr. Quirk, we are all flat on our backs, and had better never have stirred in the business!"

"You know, Gammon, you're better up in these matters than I—(because I've not been able to turn my particular attention to 'em since I first began business)—so just tell me, in a word, what good's to be got by showing that fellow to have died in his father's lifetime?"

"You don't show your usual acuteness, Mr. Quirk," replied Gammon, blandly. "It is to make waste paper of that confounded conveyance which he executed, and which Mr. Aubrey doubtless has, and with which he may, at a stroke, cut the ground from under our feet!"

"The very thought makes one feel quite funny—don't it, Gammon?" quoth Quirk, with a flustered air.

"It may well do so, Mr. Quirk. Now we are fairly embarked in a cause where success will be attended with so many splendid results, Mr. Quirk—though I'm sure you'll always bear me out in saying how very unwilling I was to take advantage of the villany of that miscreant Steg—hem"——

"Gammon, Gammon, you're always harking back to that—I'm tired of hearing on't!" interrupted Quirk, angrily, but with an embarrassed air.

"Well, now we're in it," said Gammon, with a sigh, and shrugging his shoulders, "I don't see why we should allow ourselves to be baffled by trifles. The plain question is, undoubtedly, whether we are to stand still—or go on." Mr. Quirk gazed at Mr. Gammon with an anxious and puzzled look.

"How d'ye make out—in a legal way, you know, Gammon—when a man died—I mean, of a natural death?" somewhat mysteriously inquired Quirk, who was familiar enough with the means of proving the exact hour of certain violent deaths at Debtor's Door.

"Oh! there are various methods of doing so, my dear sir," replied Gammon, carelessly. "Entries in family Bibles and prayer-books—registers—tombstones—ay, by the way, AN OLD TOMBSTONE," continued Gammon, musingly, "that would settle the business!"

"An old tombstone!" echoed Quirk, briskly, but suddenly dropping his voice. "Lord, Gammon, so it would! That's an idea!—I call that a decided idea, Gammon. 'Twould be the very thing!"

"The very thing!" repeated Gammon, pointedly. They remained silent for some moments.

"Snap could not have looked about him sharply enough when he was down at Yatton—could he, Gammon?" at length observed Quirk, in a low tone, flushing all over as he uttered the last words, and felt Gammon's cold gray eye settled on him like that of a snake.

"He could not, indeed, my dear sir," replied Gammon, while Quirk continued gazing earnestly at him, now and then wriggling about in his chair, rubbing his chin, and drumming with his fingers on the table.—"And now that you've suggested the thing, [oh, Gammon! Gammon]—it's not to be wondered at!—You know, it would have been an old tombstone—a sort of fragment of a tombstone, perhaps—so deeply sunk in the ground, probably, as easily to have escaped observation. Eh?—Does not it strike you so, Mr. Quirk?" All this was said by Gammon in a musing manner, and in a very low tone of voice; and he was delighted to find his words sinking into the eager and fertile mind of his companion.

"Ah, Gammon!" exclaimed Quirk, with a sound of partly a sigh, and partly a whistle, (the former being the exponent of the true state of his feelings, i. e. anxiety—the latter of what he wished to appear the state of his feelings, i. e. indifference.)

"Yes, Mr. Quirk?"

"You're a deep devil, Gammon—I will say that for you!" replied Quirk, glancing towards each door, and, as it were, unconsciously drawing his chair a little closer to that of Gammon.

"Nay, my dear sir!" said Gammon, with a deferential and deprecating smile, "you give me credit for an acuteness I feel I do not possess! If, indeed, I had not had your sagacity to rely upon, ever since I have had the honor of being connected with you in business—— ah, Mr. Quirk, you know you lead—I follow"——

"Gammon, Gammon!" interrupted Quirk, with an uncomfortable, but still a mollified air, "Come—your name's Oily"——

"In moments like these, Mr. Quirk, I say nothing that I do not feel," interrupted Gammon, gravely, putting to his nose the least modicum of snuff which he could take with the tip of his finger out of the huge box of Mr. Quirk, who, just then, was thrusting immense pinches, every half minute, up his nostrils.

"It will cost a great deal of money to find that same tombstone, Gammon!" said Quirk, in almost a whisper, and paused, looking intently at Gammon.

"I think this is a different kind of snuff from that which you usually take, Mr. Quirk, isn't it?" inquired Gammon, as he inserted the tips of his fingers a second time into the mechanically proffered box of Mr. Quirk.

"The same—the same," replied Quirk, hastily.

"You are a man better fitted for serious emergencies, Mr. Quirk, than any man I ever came near," said Gammon, deferentially; "I perceive that you have hit the nail on the head, as indeed you always do!"

"Tut! Stuff, Gammon; you're every bit as good a hand as I am!" replied Quirk, with an evident mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. Gammon smiled, shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders.

"'Tis that practical sagacity of yours, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon—"you know it as well as I can tell you—that has raised you to your present professional eminence!" He paused, and looked very sincerely at his senior partner.

"Well, I must own I think I do know a trick or two," quoth Quirk, with a sort of grunt of gratification.

"Ay, and further, there are some clever men who never can keep their own counsel; but are like a hen that has just laid an egg, and directly she has risen, goes foolishly cackling about everywhere, and then her egg is taken away; but you"——

"Ha, ha!" laughed Quirk; "that's devilish good, Gammon!—Capital! Gad, I think I see the hen! Ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha!" echoed Gammon, gently. "But to be serious, Mr. Quirk; what I was going to say was, that I thoroughly appreciate your admirable caution in not confiding to any one—no, not even to me—the exact means by which you intend to extricate us from our present dilemma." Here Quirk got very fidgety, and twirled his watch-key violently.

"Hem! But—hem! Ay—a—a," he grunted, looking with an uneasy air at his calm astute companion; "I didn't mean so much as all that, either, Gammon; for two heads, in my opinion, are better than one. You must own that, Gammon!" said he, not at all relishing the heavy burden of responsibility which he felt that Gammon was about to devolve upon his (Quirk's) shoulders exclusively.

"'Tis undoubtedly rather a serious business on which we are now entering," said Gammon; "and I have always admired a saying which you years ago told me of that great man Machiavel"——

[Oh, Gammon! Gammon! You well know that poor old Mr. Quirk never heard of the name of that same Machiavel till this moment!]—

"That 'when great affairs are stirring, a master-move should be confined to the master-mind that projects it.' I understand! I see! I will not, therefore, inquire into the precise means by which I am satisfied you will make it appear, in due time (while I am engaged getting up the subordinate, but very harassing details of the general case), that Harry Dreddlington died BEFORE the 7th of August, 1742." Here, taking out his watch, he suddenly added—"Bless me, Mr. Quirk, how time passes!—Two o'clock! I ought to have been at Messrs. Gregson's a quarter of an hour ago."

"Stop—a moment or two can't signify! It—it," said Quirk, hesitatingly, "it was you, wasn't it, that thought of the tombstone?"

"I, my dear Mr. Quirk"—interrupted Gammon, with a look of astonishment and deference.

"Come, come—honor among thieves, you know, Gammon!" said Quirk, trying to laugh.

"No—it shall never be said that I attempted to take the credit of"—— commenced Gammon; when a clerk entering, put an end to the colloquy between the partners, each of whom, presently, was sitting alone in his own room—for Gammon found that he was too late to think of keeping his engagement with Messrs. Gregson; if indeed he had ever made any—which, in fact, he had not. Mr. Quirk sat in a musing posture for nearly half an hour after he and Gammon had separated. "Gammon is a deep one! I'll be shot if ever there was his equal," said Quirk to himself, at length; and starting off his chair, with his hands crossed behind him, he walked softly to and fro. "I know what he's driving at—though he thought I didn't! He'd let me scratch my hands in getting the blackberries, and then he'd come smiling in to eat 'em! But—share and share alike—share profit, share danger, master Gammon;—you may find that Caleb Quirk is a match for Oily Gammon—I'll have you in for it, one way or another!" Here occurred a long pause in his thoughts, "Really I doubt the thing's growing unmanageable—the prize can't be worth the risk!—Risk, indeed—'fore gad—it's neither more nor less than"—— Here a certain picture hanging, covered with black crape, in the drawing-room at Alibi House, seemed to have glided down from its station, and to be hanging close before his eyes, with the crape drawn aside—a ghastly object—- eugh! He shuddered, and involuntarily closed his eyes. "How devilish odd that I should just now have happened to think of it!" he inwardly exclaimed, sinking into his chair in a sort of cold sweat.

"D—n the picture!" at length said he aloud—getting more and more flustered—"I'll burn it! It sha'n't disgrace my drawing-room any longer!" Here Quirk almost fancied that some busy little fiend sat squatting before the grisly picture, writing the words "CALEB QUIRK" at the bottom of it; and a sort of sickness came over him for a moment. Presently he started up, and took down one of several well-worn dingy-looking books standing on the shelves—a volume of Burns' Justice. Resuming his seat, he put on his glasses, and with a little trepidation turned to the head "Forgery," and glanced over it, divided as it was into two great heads—"Forgery at Common Law, and Forgery by Statute," with many able observations of the learned compiler, and important "cases" cited. At length his eye lit upon a paragraph which seemed suddenly to draw his heart up into his throat, producing a sensation which made him involuntarily clap his hand upon his neck.

"Oh, Gammon!!" he muttered, drawing off his glasses, sinking back in his chair, and looking towards the door which opened into Gammon's room; extending at the same time, in that direction, his right arm, and shaking his fist. "You precious villain!—I've an uncommon inclination," at length thought he, "to go down slap to Yorkshire—say nothing to anybody—make peace with the enemy, and knock up the whole thing!—For a couple of thousand pounds—a trifle to the Aubreys, I'm sure. Were I in his place, I shouldn't grudge it; and why should he?—By Jove," he got a little heated—"that would be, as Gammon has it, a master-move! and confined, egad! to the master-mind that thought of it!—Why should he ever know of the way in which the thing blew up?—Really, 'twould be worth half the money to do Gammon so hollow for once—by George it would!—Gammon, that would slip Caleb Quirk's neck so slyly into the halter, indeed!"

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon, suddenly re-entering the room after about an hour's absence, during which he too had, like his senior partner, been revolving many things in his mind—"it has occurred to me, that I had better immediately go down to Yatton, alone."

Hereat Mr. Quirk opened both his eyes and his mouth to their very widest; got very red in the face; and stared at his placid partner with a mingled expression of fear and wonder. "Hang me, Gammon!" at length he exclaimed desperately, slapping his fist upon the table—"if I don't think you're the very devil himself!"—and he sank back in his chair, verily believing, in the momentary confusion of his thoughts, that what had been passing through his mind was known to Gammon; or that what had been passing through his (Quirk's) mind, had also been occurring to Gammon, who had resolved upon being beforehand in putting his purposes into execution. Gammon was at first completely confounded by Quirk's reception of him, and stood for a few moments, with his hands elevated, in silence. Then he approached the table, and his eye caught the well-thumbed volume of Burns' Justice, open at the head "FORGERY!" and the quicksighted Gammon saw how matters stood at a glance—the process by which the result he had just witnessed had been arrived at.

"Well, Mr. Quirk, what new vagary now?" he inquired with an air of smiling curiosity.

"Vagary be——!" growled old Quirk, sullenly, without moving in his chair.

Gammon stood for a moment or two eying him with a keen scrutiny. "What!" at length he inquired good-humoredly, "do you then really grudge me any share in the little enterprise?"

"Eh?" quickly interrupted Quirk, pricking up his ears. "Do you intend to play Mackivel! eh? What must you go down alone to Yatton for, Gammon?" continued Quirk, anxiously.

"Why, simply as a sort of pioneer—to reconnoitre the churchyard—eh? I thought it might have been of service; but if"—

"Gammon, Gammon, your hand! I understand," replied Quirk, evidently vastly relieved—most cordially shaking the cold hand of Gammon.

"But understand, Mr. Quirk," said he, in a very peremptory manner, "no one upon earth is to know of my visit to Yatton except yourself."

He received a solemn pledge to that effect; and presently the partners separated, a little better satisfied with each other. Though not a word passed between them for several days afterwards on the topic chiefly discussed during the interview above described, the reader may easily imagine that neither of them dropped it from his thoughts. Mr. Quirk, shortly afterwards, paid one or two visits to the neighborhood of Houndsditch, (a perfect hotbed of clients to the firm,) where resided two or three gentlemen of the Jewish persuasion, who had been placed, from time to time, under considerable obligations by the firm of Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, in respect of professional services rendered both to themselves and to their friends. One of them, in particular, had a painful consciousness that it was in old Mr. Quirk's power at any time by a whisper to place his—the aforesaid Israelite's—neck in an unsightly noose which every now and then might be seen dangling from a beam opposite Debtor's Door, Newgate, about eight o'clock in the morning; him, therefore, every consideration of interest and of gratitude combined to render subservient to the reasonable wishes of Mr. Quirk. He was a most ingenious little fellow, and had a great taste for the imitative arts—so strong in fact, that it had once or twice placed him in some jeopardy with the Goths and Vandals of the law; who characterized the noble art in which he excelled, by a very ugly and formidable word, and annexed the most barbarous penalties to its practice. What passed between him and old Quirk on the occasion of their interviews, I know not; but one afternoon, the latter, on returning to his office, without saying anything to anybody, having bolted the door, took out of his pocket several little pieces of paper, containing pretty little picturesque devices of a fragmentary character, with antique letters and figures on them—crumbling pieces of stone, some looking more and some less sunk in the ground, and overgrown with grass; possibly they were designs for ornaments to be added to that tasteful structure, Alibi House—possibly intended to grace Miss Quirk's album. However this might be, after he had looked at them, and carefully compared them one with another, for some time, he folded them up in a sheet of paper, sealed it—with certainly not the steadiest hand in the world—and then deposited it in an iron safe.



CHAPTER XIII.

Yatton, the recovery of which was the object of these secret and formidable movements and preparations, not to say machinations, was all this while the scene of deep affliction. The lamentable condition of his mother plunged Mr. Aubrey, his wife, and sister, into profounder grief than had been occasioned by the calamity which menaced them all in common. Had he been alone, he would have encountered the sudden storm of adversity with unshrinking, nay, cheerful firmness; but could it be so, when he had ever before him those whose ruin was involved in his own?—Poor Mrs. Aubrey, his wife, having been two or three weeks confined to her bed, during which time certain fond hopes of her husband had been blighted, was almost overpowered, when, languid and feeble, supported by Mr. Aubrey and Kate, she first entered the bedroom of the venerable sufferer. What a difference, indeed, was there between the appearance of all of them at that moment, and on the Christmas day when, a happy group, they were cheerfully enjoying the festivities of the season! Kate was now pale, and somewhat thinner; her beautiful features exhibited a careworn expression; yet there was a serene lustre in her blue eye, and a composed resolution in her air, which bespoke the superiority of her soul. What had it not cost her to bear with any semblance of self-possession, or fortitude, the sad spectacle now presented by her mother! What a tender and vigilant nurse was she, to one who could no longer be sensible of, or appreciate her attentions! How that sweet girl humored all her venerated and suffering parent's little eccentricities and occasional excitement, and accommodated herself to every varying phasis of her mental malady! She had so schooled her sensibilities and feelings, as to be able to maintain perfect cheerfulness and composure in her mother's presence, on occasions which forced her brother to turn aside with an eye of agony—overcome by some touching speech or wayward action of the unconscious sufferer, who constantly imagined herself, poor soul! to be living over again her early married life; and that in her little grandchildren she beheld Mr. Aubrey and Kate as in their childhood! She would gently chide Mr. Aubrey, her husband, for his prolonged absence, asking many times a day whether he had returned from London. Every morning old Jacob Jones was shown into her chamber, at the hour at which he had been accustomed, in happier days, to attend upon her. The faithful old man's eyes would be blinded with tears, and his voice choked, as he was asked how Peggy got over her yesterday's journey; and listened to questions, messages, and directions, which had been familiar to him twenty years before, about villagers and tenants who had long lain mouldering in their humble graves—their way thither cheered and smoothed by Mrs. Aubrey's Christian charity and benevolence! 'Twas a touching sight to see her two beautiful grandchildren, in whose company she delighted, brought, with a timorous and half-reluctant air, into her presence. How strange must have seemed to them the cheerfulness of the motionless figure always lying in the bed; a cheerfulness which, though gentle as gentle could be, yet sufficed not to assure the little things, or set them at their ease. Though her mild features ever smiled upon them, still 'twas from a prostrate figure, which never moved, and was always surrounded by mournful persons, with sorrowful constraint in their countenances and gestures! Charles would stand watching her, with apprehensive eye—the finger of one hand raised to his lip, while his other retained the hand which had brought him in, as if fearful of its quitting hold of him; the few words he could be brought to speak were in a subdued tone and hurried utterance;—and when, having been lifted up to kiss his grandmamma, he and his sister were taken out of the chamber, their little breasts would heave a sigh which showed how sensibly they were relieved from their recent constraint!

How wofully changed was everything in the once cheerful old Hall! Mr. Aubrey sitting in the library, intently engaged upon books and papers—Mrs. Aubrey and Kate now and then, arm in arm, walking slowly up and down the galleries, or one of the rooms, or the hall, not with their former sprightly gayety, but pensive, and often in tears, and then returning to the chamber of their suffering parent. All this was sad work, indeed, and seemed, as it were, to herald coming desolation!

But little variation occurred, for several weeks, in the condition of Mrs. Aubrey, except that she grew visibly feebler. One morning, however, about six weeks after her seizure, from certain symptoms, the medical men intimated their opinion that some important change was on the eve of taking place, for which they prepared the family. She had been very restless during the night. After frequent intervals of uneasy sleep, she would awake with evident surprise and bewilderment. Sometimes a peculiar smile would flit over her emaciated features; at others, they would be overcast with gloom, and she would seem struggling to suppress tears. Her voice, too, when she spoke, was feeble and tremulous; and she would sigh, and shake her head mournfully. Old Jacob Jones, not being introduced at the accustomed hour, she asked for him. When he made his appearance, she gazed at him for a moment or two, with a perplexed eye, exclaiming, "Jacob! Jacob! is it you?" in a very low tone; and then she closed her eyes, apparently falling asleep. Thus passed the day; her daughter and daughter-in-law sitting on either side of the bed, where they had so long kept their anxious and affectionate vigils—Mr. Aubrey sitting at the foot of the bed—and Dr. Goddart and Mr. Whately in frequent attendance. Towards the evening, Dr. Tatham also, as had been his daily custom through her illness, appeared, and in a low tone read over the service for the visitation of the sick. Shortly afterwards Mr. Aubrey was obliged to quit the chamber, in order to attend to some very pressing matters of business; and he had been engaged for nearly an hour, intending almost every moment to return to his mother's chamber, when Dr. Tatham entered, as Mr. Aubrey was subscribing his name to a letter, and, with a little earnestness, said—"Come, my friend, let us return to your mother; methinks she is on the eve of some decisive change: the issue is with God!" Within a very few moments they were both at the bedside of Mrs. Aubrey. A large chamber-lamp, standing on a table at the farther end of the room, diffused a soft light, rendering visible at a glance the silent and sad group collected round the bed, all with their eyes directed towards the venerable figure who lay upon it. Mr. Aubrey sat beside his wife close to his mother; and taking her white emaciated hand into his own, gently raised it to his lips. She seemed dozing: but his action appeared to rouse her for a moment. Presently she fixed her eye upon him—its expression, the while, slowly but perceptibly changing, and exciting strange feelings within him. He trembled, and removed not his eye from hers. He turned very pale—for the whole expression of his mother's countenance, which was turned full towards him, was changing. Through the clouded windows of the falling fabric, behold! its long-imprisoned tenant, THE SOUL, had arisen from its torpor, and was looking at him. Reason was re-appearing. It was, indeed, his mother, and in her right mind, that was gazing at him. He scarcely breathed. At length surprise and apprehension yielded before a gush of tenderness and love. With what an unutterable look was his mother at that moment regarding him! His lip quivered—his eye overflowed—and, as he felt her fingers very gently compressing his own, his tears fell down. Gently leaning forward, he kissed her cheek, and sank on one knee beside the bed.

"Is it you, my son?" said she, in a very low tone, but in her own voice, and it stirred up instantly a thousand fond recollections, almost overpowering him. He kissed her hand with fervent energy, but spoke not. She continued gazing at him with mingled solemnity and fondness. Her eye seemed brightening as it remained fixed upon him. Again she spoke, in a very low but clear voice—every thrilling word being heard by all around her: "Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern,—Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." It would be in vain to attempt to describe the manner in which these words were spoken; and which fell upon those who heard them as though they were listening to one from the dead.