Chapter V: Book THE THIRD: Walter Liddel (1)

I. ON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE.

|Nearly at the same date as the incident related in the foregoing chapters, and about two hours past midnight, a strongly-built, middle-aged man, whose garb proclaimed him a mechanic, took his way across Westminster Bridge.

He was not walking very fast, but when the hour was tolled forth from the lofty tower, he began to mend his pace, glancing occasionally at the sullen river that swept on beneath him.

The bridge was completely deserted. The last policeman he had seen was standing near New Palace Yard, and the belated mechanic was thinking how strange and solitary the usually crowded footway appeared, when he descried a figure leaning over the low parapet.

He had heard many tales of suicide, and something in the attitude of the figure caused him to hurry on.

As he advanced, he perceived, by the light of the lamp, that it was a young man, bare-headed, for a felt hat was lying on the pavement.

The person was muttering to himself, and his demeanour was altogether so wild, that the mechanic was convinced that his suspicions were correct, and he, therefore, called out.

He instantly turned at the cry, and exhibited a haggard visage; but instead of replying, made an attempt to spring upon the parapet.

But the workman was too quick for him, and seized him before he could execute his desperate purpose.

The intended suicide quite shook in the grasp of his powerful preserver.

He was a young man, and his brown hair and beard made the ghastly hue of his countenance yet more striking by the contrast. Moreover, he had the look of a gentleman, but it was difficult to judge of his condition from his grey tweed habiliments.

He offered very little resistance to his friendly captor, his strength apparently being gone.

“Let me go!” he said in a hoarse voice. “I don't wish to live!”

“Madman!” cried the mechanic. “What's the matter, that you would throw away life thus?”

“What's the matter?” echoed the other, with a laugh that had nothing human in it. “I am ruined--utterly ruined! Had you let me alone, my troubles would have been ended by this time!”

And he made another ineffectual attempt to free himself.

“Don't think to get away!” said the mechanic. “I'm sorry for you, but it's my duty to prevent you from committing this wicked act. I shall hold you till a policeman comes up!”

“No; don't do that!” cried the wretched man. “Though I don't know where to turn for a night's lodging, I don't want to be locked up! Leave go your hold; I promise not to make the attempt again!”

“Well, I'll trust you,” replied the mechanic, releasing him.

They looked at each other for a few moments, and both seemed satisfied with the scrutiny.

The intended suicide was apparently about three or four and twenty; tall, handsome, well-proportioned. As already intimated, he had brown locks and a brown beard, and was dressed in such manner that no precise idea could be formed of his rank.

In regard to his preserver, there could be no mistake. His working attire and cap proclaimed his station. He had an honest, manly countenance. In age he might be about forty-five.

“Here's your hat, sir,” he said picking it up. “I should like to have a word with you before we part. Perhaps I may be warranted in asking you a question or two, especially as my motive is a good one. I'm not influenced by mere curiosity. I'll begin by telling you my name. It's Joe Hartley. I'm a stonemason by trade, and live in Lambeth Palace Road--at least, close beside it. The reason I'm out so late is that I've been doing a job at Paddington. But I don't regret it, since I've been the humble instrument of saving a fellow-creature. Now you know all you may care to learn about me, and, in return, I should like to hear something about you.”

“I can't tell you who I am, Mr. Hartley,” he replied, “nor can I acquaint you with my strange history. You may guess that I must have been brought to a desperate pass.”

His voice changed as he went on.

“What's a poor fellow to do when he's utterly ruined? I've spent all my money, pawned my watch, my ring, and another little trinket. I've nothing left--not a sou.”

“But have you no relatives--no friends?” inquired Hartley, kindly.

“Yes; I've relatives, but I've quarrelled with them, and would die rather than go near them!” he cried, in a bitter, desperate tone, that left no doubt of his fixed determination. “Friends I have none!”

“Well, well, I won't argue with you about that,” said Hartley. “But there is no occasion for one so young as you are to starve. There are hundreds of ways in which you may earn a living. Amongst others, you might 'list for a soldier. I'm much mistaken if you don't stand six feet two. They'd take you at the Horse Guards in a minute.

“I did think of that; and, perhaps, might have done it, but I was goaded to this desperate act by a circumstance on which I won't dwell. I think I must have been mad. Very likely I shall enlist tomorrow.

“But you want rest, and have nowhere to go. Come home with me,” said the stonemason.

“You are very good, Mr. Hartley,” he replied, much affected. “This is real kindness, and I feel it--feel it deeply!”

“Come along, then,” cried Hartley. “There's a policeman moving towards us, and he'll wonder what we are about. You won't tell me your name, I suppose?”

“Call me Liddel--Walter Liddel,” replied the other. “It's not my real name, though I have a right to use it. At any rate, I mean to be known by it henceforward, and it will serve me with the recruiting sergeant.”

“It will serve you with me as well,” said Hartley. “So come along, Mr. Walter Liddel.”

Presently they encountered the policeman, who eyed them rather suspiciously, but was satisfied with a few words from Hartley.

On quitting the bridge, the stonemason turned off on the right, into Lambeth Palace Road.

They walked on in silence, for Liddel did not seem inclined to talk.

Gradually the street became wider, and Hartley, noticing that his companion began to walk very feebly, told him he had not much further to go.

Their course seemed to be stopped by the high wall of the palace grounds; but Hartley turned into a narrow street on the left, called Spencer's Rents, and halting before the door of a neat little habitation, said:

“Here we are!”

Walter Liddel replied, in a faint voice, that he was glad of it.

Hartley then knocked softly at the door, which was presently opened by his wife.

II. THE HOUSE IN SPENCER'S KENTS.

|Perceiving that some one was with her husband, Mrs. Hartley was about to beat an immediate retreat, but Hartley stopped her, and after a short colloquy between the pair, the stonemason entered with his companion.

Mrs. Hartley had disappeared, but there was a light in the kitchen, into which Walter Liddel was introduced.

The hospitable stonemason begged him to sit down, and, opening a cupboard, took from it some cold meat and bread, which he set before him, and bade him fall to.

Next proceeding to the scullery, Hartley drew a jug of beer. Walter Liddel ate as voraciously as a famished wolf.

Leaving him to enjoy the first good meal he had made for some days, Hartley went up-stairs, and his voice could be heard in consultation with his wife.

Evidently, some little preparation for their unexpected guest had to be made by the worthy couple, but it was completed before he had finished his meal. He was still engaged when Hartley reappeared.

“Glad to see you getting on so well, Mr. Liddel,” observed the stonemason. “It ain't often we've a spare bed, but it so happens that our daughter Rose is away, so you can have her room.”

“Anywhere will do for me,” replied Walter, who by this time had devoured all the meat and bread, and emptied the jug of beer.

“Come on, then,” said Hartley, taking up the candle, and signing to his guest to follow him.

A short, narrow staircase brought them to a landing, whence two or three doors opened, one of which admitted them to a small chamber, simply but very neatly furnished. It breathed an atmosphere of purity and innocence, with which Walter, exhausted as he was, could not help being struck.

“There's your bed,” said Hartley, pointing to the neat little couch, the patchwork quilt of which being turned down, revealed the snowy sheets.

“Thank you, my good friend; I couldn't wish for a better,” replied Walter, squeezing the mason's horny hand. “Heaven bless you for your kindness to me.”

“Don't disturb yourself too soon,” observed Hartley. “I'm not going out early myself to-morrow. I'll call you. Good night.”

So saying, he retired, and closed the door after him.

As soon as he was alone, the penitent knelt down, and besought Heaven's forgiveness for the sinful act he had attempted, and which had been so fortunately frustrated. His contrition was sincere, and his resolution to lead a better life heartfelt.

His prayers ended, he took off his attire, and, lying down in the little couch in which innocence alone had hitherto reposed, almost instantly fell asleep.

His slumbers were sound, and he had not stirred when Hartley had entered the room on the morrow.

On opening his eyes, Walter could hardly make out where he was; but by degrees the recollection of all that occurred returned to him.

“Don't think any more of last night,” said Hartley, noticing the pained expression of his countenance. “It's nearly noon, but if you feel tired I'll come again later on.”

“Nearly noon!” cried Walter, preparing to spring out of bed. “I ought to have been up hours ago!”

Thereupon, Hartley retired, and his guest proceeded to make his toilette with a care that showed he had not forsaken early habits.

While thus employed he could not help casting his eyes round the chamber, and was more than ever struck by its extreme simplicity and neatness. Everything seemed in its place. It appeared like a profanation to invade such a temple of purity.

On going down-stairs, he found Mrs. Hartley, a middle-aged, matronly woman, decently attired as became her station, and still comely.

It was too late for breakfast, and the cloth was spread for dinner. On the table was a baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes.

Mrs. Hartley greeted him very kindly, and, with great good feeling and good taste, made no allusion to the circumstances that had brought him to the house, though she could not have been ignorant of them. But his appearance prepossessed her in his favour.

“Don't say a word about being so late, sir,” she observed with a kindly smile. “I'm glad to see you looking so well. You must be content to make breakfast and dinner together to-day, sir.”

While Walter was making a suitable reply, Hartley came in, and seemed quite surprised and delighted at his guest's improved appearance.

“A few hours' rest has done wonders with you, Mr. Liddel,” he said. “This is my wife,” he added; “and I will say it to her face, that no man could have a better.”

“A good husband makes a good wife, Joe, as I always tell you,” she replied, smiling. “Pray sit down, sir,” she added, to Walter.

Both Hartley and his guest had good appetites, and a large hole was made in the shoulder of mutton before they had finished their meal. Far from begrudging Walter, Mrs. Hartley seemed pleased.

“Now, Mr. Liddel,” said Hartley, as he laid down his knife and fork, “I must go to my work. The missis will take care of you till my return. We may have company in the evening.”

“I must go and look after some employment,” said Walter.

“Time enough for that to-morrow,” rejoined the mason. “We'll have some talk together on the subject to-night. Meantime, keep quiet.”

And the worthy fellow went about his business.

Mrs. Hartley showed her guest into the little parlour, and when she had cleared away the things, joined him there, and they had a little chat together; but whatever curiosity she felt, she restrained it.

Limited as was her knowledge of the world, she felt convinced that Walter was a gentleman. She talked to him in a kindly, motherly tone, that soon drew him out.

At last, after beating about the bush, she said, in a straightforward way:

“You must excuse me, sir, if I take upon me to give you advice, but don't you think you had better go back to your friends?”

“Never!” he replied. “I will never go back to them. If you knew all, you would agree that I have been infamously treated! No, Mrs. Hartley, my resolution is taken. I am down, but I will make my way up in the world. To mount the ladder, one must begin at the lowest step.”

“I approve of your resolution, sir,” she rejoined, kindly; “and if you are determined, you cannot fail of success. You have youth, strength, good looks. I dare say, now,” she added, unable to repress her desire to know something more of him, “I dare say you think you have been wronged?”

“I have had great injustice done me,” he replied. “But you must not ask me any questions, Mrs. Hartley. I shall never speak of what I have been, unless----”

“You reinstate yourself,” she supplied.

“Exactly, And many years may elapse before I can do that.”

“Ah! you don't know,” she replied with an encouraging smile. “But you must excuse me. I have got the house to attend to. You may like to see the paper?”

Having spent some little time over the daily paper which she gave him, Walter took up his hat, and went out.

Strolling leisurely along, he came to Lambeth Palace, and standing near the pier at the foot of the bridge, he watched the boats arriving and departing--landing passengers and carrying them away.

The lively scene served to amuse him. Among those who were embarking, he noticed a tall, thin man, dressed in black, whose sharp features were familiar to him.

The individual in question was only just in time, and as soon as he got on board, the boat was cast off, and took its course towards the other side of the river.

It had not gone far, when the tall, thin man, approaching the stern, descried Walter, and almost started at the sight of him.

They remained gazing at each other as long as the steam-boat continued in view, but no sign of recognition passed between them.

The sight of this person, whoever he might be, seemed to awaken a train of painful reflections in Walter's breast.

He sat down on a bench on the little esplanade, and remained there for some time contemplating the busy scene on the river.

By degrees he recovered his serenity, and it was in a more cheerful frame of mind that he returned to the house in Spencer's Rents.

III. INTRODUCES MR. TANKARD, MR. LAEKINS, AND MR. PLEDGER DAPP.

|The tea equipage was set out in the little parlour, and Walter enjoyed a cup of bohea with Mrs. Hartley very much, and passed the evening with her in tranquil converse. He began to feel a great regard for the good dame, and listened to her advice.

Hartley did not return till nearly supper time, and brought with him a friend--a neighbour--whom he introduced as Mr. Tankard.

Rather an important personage in his way was Mr. Tankard--stout, short, red-faced, possessing a rich mellow voice, consequential in manner, and respectably dressed in black. Some of his friends called him “Silver Tankard,” but Hartley took no such liberty. Mr. Tankard had been a butler before setting up in business in the Lambeth Road, where he now kept a large china and glass shop.

Though generally distant and proud, Mr. Tankard unbent towards Walter, and was unusually civil to him.

“I like the looks of that young man,” he observed, in a very loud whisper to Hartley.

Mrs. Hartley deemed it necessary to apologise to Mr. Tankard for the poorness of the supper, and told him if she had expected the honour and pleasure of his company she would have provided something better; but he begged her condescendingly not to mind--“he wasn't at all partickler.”

Mrs. Hartley knew better. She knew he was exceedingly particular. However, she did the best that circumstances would allow, and as a finish to the rather scanty meal, gave him a dish of stewed cheese, and a jug, not a “tankard,” of ale with a toast in it. With this he was tolerably well satisfied.

After supper, Hartley asked his guest if he would like to smoke, to which proposal Mr. Tankard made no sort of objection. A flask of Scotch whisky was likewise set on the table.

Scarcely were the pipes lighted, when the party was increased by the arrival of Mr. Pledger Dapp and Mr. Larkins, who it seems were expected by Hartley, though he had said nothing about them to his wife.

Pledger Dapp, a brisk little man, was a cook and confectioner in the York Road, and Larkins was a greengrocer in the same neighbourhood, and likewise went out to wait. They worked together with Mr. Tankard, and each recommended his friends whenever he had the opportunity.

More glasses were placed on the table, and more hot water, and everybody was puffing away.

The room was soon so full of smoke that Mrs. Hartley could stand it no longer, and retired to the kitchen.

A great deal of merriment prevailed among the company, and they laughed heartily at each other's stories. These related chiefly to their customers.

At last, Hartley contrived to bring Walter forward by making a direct allusion to him.

“I want to have your opinion about my young friend, gentlemen,” he observed, taking the pipe from his mouth. “He thinks of joining the cavalry, but I think it is a pity such a fine young man should throw himself away. What do you say, gentlemen?”

After a sip of whisky and water, the person chiefly appealed to replied:

“I think it would be a thousand pities. No doubt he would make a very fine Life Guardsman, but in my opinion, he would do much better as a figure footman.”

“Much better,” echoed Pledger Dapp and Larkins.

“I'm not ashamed to say I began life as a page,” pursued Mr. Tankard; “and you see what I've arrived at.”

“It's no secret that I was a cook in a gentleman's family before I set up for myself as a confectioner,” said Pledger Dapp.

“And I was a gardener before I became a greengrocer,” said Larkins. And he added, with a laugh, “I'm a gardener now, though no longer in service.”

“Take the advice we all of us give you, sir, and become a footman,” said Tankard. “I'll answer for it we'll soon find you a place.”

“But I've no qualifications,” replied Walter. “I don't know the duties--that is, I know what a footman ought to be--”

“Well, that's quite enough,” interrupted Pledger Dapp. “You'll soon learn all the rest.”

“It just occurs to me that Lady Thicknesse, of Belgrave Square, is in want of a footman,” observed Tankard. “That would be a very good thing. It's a first-rate place.”

“Lady Thicknesse! I think I've heard of her,” remarked Walter. “A widow, isn't she?”

“Widow of Sir Thomas Thicknesse--middle-aged and rich. Besides her town residence, she has got a country house in Cheshire.”

Walter reflected for a few minutes.

The proposition had taken him by surprise. The notion of becoming a flunky amused him vastly, and he could hardly entertain it seriously. However, there seemed to be no difficulty in assuming the part.

The result of his cogitations was that he felt inclined to adopt the expedient, and he told Mr. Tankard so.

“But I cannot offer myself under any false pretence,” he said. “Lady Thicknesse must be made aware that I have never served in this capacity before.”

All his auditors, except Hartley, laughed loudly at his scruples.

“Bless you, my dear fellow, you needn't be so diffident,” cried Mr. Tankard. “If Lady Thicknesse is satisfied, that's all you need mind. I'll set about the business to-morrow. In a week I expect you'll thank me for my pains.”

“You'll have a first-rate situation, if you get it, I promise you,” remarked Pledger Dapp.

“Very handsome livery and powder,” observed Larkins.

“Powder!” exclaimed Walter, in dismay. “Is it necessary to wear powder?”

“Indispensable,” replied Tankard. “But you'll find it very becoming,” he added, with a laugh. “Powder will suit your hair. You're above six feet in height, eh?”

“Six feet two,” replied Walter.

“Capital!” cried Tankard. “Stay! One thing mustn't be neglected,” he added, rubbing his chin expressively. “You must get rid of that handsome brown beard.”

“S'death! must I shave?” cried Walter, amid the general merriment.

“Certainly, my dear fellow,” replied Tankard. “Whoever heard of a footman in a beard? Follow my instructions, and you may make yourself quite easy about the place. I'll engage you shall obtain it.”

“But I've not quite decided myself,” said Walter.

“Pooh! nonsense! you can't do better,” cried Tankard. “Can he, gentlemen?”

Everybody concurred with him in opinion.

Partly in jest, partly in earnest, Walter assented. So much, in fact, was said in favour of the plan, that he began to grow reconciled to it.

As the clock struck eleven, Mrs. Hartley came in, and her appearance was the signal for the breaking up of the party.

While shaking hands with Walter, Mr. Tankard renewed his promises, and said:

“I'm a man of my word. What I say I'll do. Tomorrow I'll go to Belgrave Square, and see my friend, Mr. Higgins, Lady Thicknesse's butler. On my return I'll call and tell you all about it.”

“Really, Mr. Tankard, you are taking a vast deal of trouble----”

“Not in the least, my dear fellow!” replied the other. “It is a pleasure to me--a very great pleasure.”

“And if you knew him as well as I do, you'd feel that it must be, or he wouldn't do it,” observed Hartley, laughing.

In another minute the company were gone, and shortly afterwards the whole of the little household had retired to rest.

Visions of his new life floated before Walter as he laid his head on the pillow. He slept soundly enough, but on awakening next morning he rather regretted the promise he had given.

“I don't like the idea of turning flunky,” he thought; “but the livery will serve as a disguise.”

IV. SIGEBERT SMART.

|Before going out to his work, Hartley had a little talk in private with Walter.

Fearing he might be inconvenienced from want of money--having heard him say, at their first meeting on Westminster Bridge, that he had none--the worthy stonemason, with great consideration, volunteered to lend him five pounds, on the simple understanding that this sum was to be repaid when Walter had earned so much wages.

Thus amply provided with funds, Walter sallied forth after breakfast to make a few necessary purchases preparatory to entering upon the situation, should he obtain it--and telling Mrs Hartley what to say to Mr. Tankard, in case that obliging person should call during his absence.

His first business was to seek out a hair-dresser's shop; and, hearing there were several in the Lambeth Road, he went thither.

He had not proceeded far, when he came to an establishment that bore the name _Sigebert Smart_, in large gilt letters, above the window, and promised all he desired.

Entering the shop, he perceived two persons--one a showy-looking female, stationed behind a counter laden with pots of pomade, flacons of oil, brushes, sponges, and perfumery; the other, a dapper, fair-complexioned young man, with his blonde hair brushed back from his forehead.

This was Sigebert Smart in person. Having been for a year in Paris, at a large shop in the Rue St. Honoré, he considered himself perfectly versed in all the arts and mysteries of a French coiffeur, and incomparably superior to any of his rivals in the Lambeth Road.

Walter thought the hairdresser stared at him rather inquisitively as he entered the shop; but the man's manner was perfectly polite, and, on learning his customer's requirements, he begged him to step into an inner room, communicating by a glass-door with the shop.

“Pray be seated, sir!” said Sigebert, pointing to a well-stuffed arm-chair. “Shaved, I think you said, sir?”

“Shaved!” repeated Walter.

“Before taking the irreparable step,” said Sigebert, placing himself in front of his customer, and regarding him steadfastly, “let me ask if you have reflected?”

“What d'ye mean?” cried Walter, staring at him in surprise.

“Excuse me, sir,” rejoined the hairdresser, “but have you positively determined to part with that magnificent beard?”

“I don't like to lose it, I confess,” replied Walter. “But I have no choice.”

“That's hard. Never in my experience have I beheld a finer beard, nor better grown. I shall be loth to cut it.”

“You are pleased to compliment me,” said Walter.

“It is not my habit, sir, I assure you. Generally I am frank to a fault. _Apropos des barbes_, I will tell you a curious story. A gentleman called here last evening, and inquired whether a very tall young man, dressed in a grey tweed suit, exactly like yours, sir, and having a particularly handsome brown beard, the very ditto of yours, sir, lodged in the Lambeth Road, or hereabouts. I told him I had not remarked any such person; but you, sir, answer precisely to the description. Strange you should put in an appearance next day!”

“That's why you stared at me so hard when I entered the shop?” cried Walter.

“Couldn't help it, sir. Quite startled.”

“And now for a description of the individual who has taken the liberty to inquire about me?” said Walter.

“Tall, thin, sharp features; long, straight nose; professional-looking,” replied Sigebert.

“I know him,” said Walter. “I saw him yesterday.”

“At Lambeth Pier; he said he caught sight of you there. He appears most anxious to find you, and has been making inquiries about you in the neighbourhood.”

“Did he mention any name?”

“No; he was exceedingly reserved on that point. But I think he'll call again.”

“I've no especial desire to see him. But now to work.”

“Must I really commit this outrage?” cried Sige-bert, flourishing his scissors. “My soul revolts at the deed.”

Walter, however, insisted, and, in a very few minutes, his luxuriant beard had vanished, and his cheeks and chin were perfectly smooth.

He had just got up from the arm-chair, when the glass-door opened, and a tall man came in.

“You have found your friend at last, sir,” cried Sigebert, on beholding him. “I suppose my wife told you he was here?”

“She did,” replied the other.

Walter, however, did not seem willing to acknowledge the intruder as a friend, but drew himself up, and regarded him sternly--almost angrily.

“Perhaps I had better retire, gentlemen,” said Sigebert. “You may wish to have a little private converse.”

With this, he went out, but we rather fancy the door was left slightly ajar.

“How is it that you have presumed to follow me about in this way?” asked Walter, in an offended tone.

“You must forgive me, sir. I saw you yesterday, and have searched for you here to-day. It is my earnest desire to induce you to return to your relatives and friends. They feared something terrible had happened to you.”

“They need not trouble themselves about me,” rejoined Walter. “I shall not trouble myself about them.”

“But I have certain propositions to make to you.”

“I reject all propositions. It is useless to talk to me.”

“I have, also, a sum of money at your disposal. Will you not receive it?”

“If it comes from a particular quarter, and as an allowance, no!”

“Permit me to say, sir,” remarked the tall gentleman in a grave tone, “that you are acting very injudiciously, and are throwing away a great piece of good fortune. All can be easily put to rights if you will only allow me to do it. And there are many other advantages that might accrue to you, to which I cannot now more particularly advert.”

“I am the best judge of what concerns myself, sir.”

“I don't think so,” rejoined the other. “You seem obstinately bent upon pursuing a wrong course. Have you any debts?”

“None!”

“Any liabilities?”

“None!”

“Then why not assume your proper position? You will have every aid. I understand your objections, and though I deem them ridiculous, I shall not attempt to combat them at this moment. But there are friends willing and anxious to assist you. Amongst others,” he added, lowering his voice, “Sir Bridgnorth Charlton.”

“Sir Bridgnorth is an excellent man--one in a thousand!”

“Then you cannot distrust him?”

“I do not distrust him! On the contrary, I have entire confidence in him! He is a gentleman and a man of honour!”

“Let him have the management of your affairs.”

“Do you come from Sir Bridgnorth?”

“Sir Bridgnorth is not certain you are alive. He fears you have committed suicide. It will be a great satisfaction to him and several others to learn that you have not executed your fell purpose.”

“Suffer them to remain in ignorance. I would rather they supposed me dead. Keep this secret for me, I beg of you. It is the sole favour you can do me. I will reappear at the proper time.”

“But, meanwhile, you will make several persons very unhappy--your sister, who has the greatest affection for you, as I can testify--and Miss Barfleur.”

“Miss Barfleur!” exclaimed Walter, starting. “She has no interest in me.”

“You are mistaken,” replied the other. “Sir Leycester Barfleur having recently died, she is now a great heiress.”

“The very reason why she should not think of me.”

“Don't despair! Make your appearance!”

“I have said I will appear at the proper time--not before.”

“Won't you give me any idea of your projects?”

“No.”

“Do you want money? I am ready to advance it to you.”

“I want none.”

“Then our interview is at an end.”

“Once more, I must ask you not to mention that you have seen me.”

“I cannot consent to keep those persons who are attached to you in doubt--nor ought you to ask it. If, for reasons of your own, you choose to live in concealment and under a feigned name, however I may regret your determination, I shall not attempt to interfere with it. But I am persuaded you will speedily change your mind.”

“If I do, I'll write to you.”

“No; write to Sir Bridgnorth. He is searching for you. He ought to have a letter. Address him at the 'Grosvenor Hotel.' He is now in town.”

“I will do it. Before we separate, give me your word that you won't follow me, nor attempt to find out my abode. You will gain nothing by the discovery.”

“I give you my word,” replied the other. “Enough,” said Walter. “I thank you heartily for the trouble you have taken about me. Adieu!”

On issuing forth into the shop, Walter found the hairdresser standing rather suspiciously near the glass-door. But he seemed to have some employment at the counter. Walter, however, could not help remarking that Sigebert's manner towards him seemed more respectful than it had been.

As he received payment for the task he had performed, the hairdresser exclaimed:

“Ah, sir, I fear you'll regret the loss of your beard. Your best friend wouldn't recognise you--you're so much changed. But don't lay the blame on me. I did my best to dissuade you.”

As he bowed the young man out, he looked after him for a moment, and saw that he proceeded towards the bridge, whereupon the wily Sigebert made a significant gesture to his wife as he returned.

At this juncture, the tall, professional-looking gentleman came forth, and having nothing to pay, merely offered his thanks as he went out.

A hansom cab chancing to pass at the moment, he immediately got into it, and ordered the driver to go to the “Grosvenor Hotel.”

Meanwhile, Sigebert, having divested himself of his apron and put on a hat, nodded to his wife, and followed Walter, who was not yet out of sight--his tall figure rendering him easily distinguishable.

V. ROMNEY.

|On his way back, Walter stopped at a large linen-draper's shop to purchase some shirts and other articles, never dreaming he was followed by Sigebert. Having provided himself with all he required, and given orders where the parcel should be sent, he proceeded on his course.

Not till he had fairly housed him did the hairdresser discontinue the quest, and he then hovered near the spot for some time.

There was a mystery about Walter that greatly excited Sigebert's curiosity, and he determined to unravel it.

“Why, what have you done with your beard, sir?” cried Mrs. Hartley, as Walter entered the house.

“Left it at the hairdresser's!” he replied, with a laugh.

“Well, I can't say your appearance is much improved. I wish Rose had seen you as you were.”

“What! has your daughter come back?” cried Walter.

“No; but I expect her very shortly. She has been at Harrow-on-the-Hill, on a visit, as I think I told you, and I've just got a letter from her, telling me she will return to-day. 'Father must meet me at Lambeth Pier at noon, and carry my carpet-bag'--that's what she says; but I don't think he'll be back in time.”

“Well, I'll meet her, and carry the carpet-bag, with the greatest pleasure!” said Walter.

“But you won't know her.”

“Describe her, and I shall. Not very tall, I suppose?”

“Not very--rather short.”

“Pretty figure?”

“I think so.”

“Blooming complexion?”

“Odd you should guess that. Well, she has a pink complexion.”

“That's why you call her Rose. What sort of eyes?--black, blue, grey, or nondescript?”

“I never heard of nondescript eyes. Rose's are light blue. But how stupid I am! Here's her photograph. Very like her it is.”

“And a very pretty girl it represents,” replied Walter, examining it. “You might have said a great deal more in her praise without being charged with maternal vanity. Having seen this, I can make no mistake.”

“Not easily; for she wears the same blue serge dress, and the same hat. I'm sorry you'll lose your room, but we'll find a bed for you.”

“Oh, it can't be helped!” he cried, affecting an indifference he did not feel. “Pray has Mr. Tankard been here to-day?”

“I've seen nothing of him as yet,” she replied.

“Well, then, I'll be off. I'll soon bring your daughter back to you.”

“Dear me, how surprised she'll be!” cried Mrs. Hartley. “She'll wonder who you are.”

“Don't be afraid. I'll explain matters.”

As Walter went forth, he noticed a stout ash-plant hanging up in the passage, and took it with him--very fortunately, as it turned out.

Pleased with the task he had undertaken, he marched along quickly, and did not remark that Sigebert, who had seen him come out, was on his track.

A boat had just landed its passengers as Walter reached the pier, but he saw no one among them bearing the slightest resemblance to the pretty damsel he was looking for. However, it was not yet twelve o'clock.

About a quarter of an hour later on, another steamboat could be seen crossing the river; and on a near approach of the vessel, the deck not being crowded, he easily made out Rose.

Her photograph did not do her justice. She was even handsomer than he anticipated, and her good looks had evidently gained her the unwelcome attentions of a young but dissipated-looking individual, who was standing near her.

This person, whose looks, gait, dress, and manner showed that he belonged to the Turf, was well known to Walter, and with good reason, since he had won large sums of money from him. The young man's name was Romney; and though he contrived to hold up his head in the betting-ring, he was not in very good repute, and was regarded as a blackleg. Walter held him in detestation, for he mainly attributed his ruin to him.

Though he must have perceived that his attentions were annoying to Rose, Romney did not discontinue them, but became more impertinently assiduous as the boat neared the pier, and seemed determined not to part with her.

Rose looked out anxiously for her father, but could not discover him, nor did she perceive any person she knew, or whose protection she could claim.

Stepping on shore before her, Romney offered her his hand, but she refused to take it, and his proposal to carry her bag was peremptorily declined.

At this juncture, Walter came up, and pushing the intruder forcibly aside, bade him begone, and no longer molest the young lady.

“What business have you to interfere?” cried Romney, furiously. “Who are you? Do you know him?” he added, to Rose.

“I never saw the gentleman before,” she rejoined. “But I am greatly obliged by his assistance.”

“_Gentleman!_” echoed Romney, scornfully. “He doesn't deserve the term!”

“Blackleg and scoundrel!” vociferated Walter. “Do you dare to speak thus of one you have cheated and plundered?”

And seizing him by the throat, he applied the ash-plant vigorously to his shoulders.

No one attempted to interfere; and when Romney was released, he made himself scarce as soon as he could; perceiving, from the observations that reached his ears, that the feeling of the bystanders was decidedly against him. He was followed by Sigebert, who had witnessed the encounter, and determined to have a word with him.

Meanwhile, Rose had found another protector. Mr. Tankard had come up, and was standing with her at a short distance. He had given her all needful explanation respecting Walter; and when the latter joined them, after the scuffle, she said to him:

“I never imagined you came from our house, Mr. Liddel. You have really done me a great service. But how on earth did you know me? I never remember seeing you before.”

“I don't suppose you ever did,” he replied. “I knew you from the photograph your mother showed me when I offered to go and meet you at the pier, in place of your father.”

“Well, I declare, that _is_ curious!” she cried.

“And I promised to carry your carpet-bag; but Mr. Tankard, I'm sure, is too gallant to surrender it.”

“Quite right,” replied the other. “I'm proud to be of use to Miss Rose. I was just coming to call upon you, Mr. Liddel. I've been to Belgrave Square, and have got you the situation. I saw Mr. Higgins, the butler, and he says you're to enter upon your duties the day after to-morrow.”

“Quite soon enough,” remarked Walter, laughing.

“There's something about the livery that I have to tell you; but that will do by-and-by,” added Tankard.

“Dear me, Mr. Liddel!” exclaimed Rose, raising her finely-arched eyebrows in surprise; “you're not going to wear a livery, are you?”

“Livery and powder,” supplied Tankard.

“Impossible!” exclaimed Rose.

“No; it's too true,” said Walter.

By this time they had reached the house. Rose rushed in, and was welcomed by her mother with kisses and embraces.

VI. ROSE HARTLEY.

|Rose Hartley was just nineteen, and had all the freshness and bloom of youth.

A remarkably neat, but rather plump, figure, comely features, brilliant complexion, sparkling eyes, nut-brown hair and particularly small feet, constituted the sum total of her charms; and she had considerably more than fall to the lot of nine girls out of ten.

Rose was puzzled upon one point. She could not exactly understand how Walter had found his way to her father's house; and her mother did not care to enlighten her. However, his appearance and manner pleased her, and she felt sure she should soon learn all about him.

“Mr. Tankard.” said Mrs. Hartley, “I must get you to help us out of a difficulty.”

“With the greatest pleasure, my dear madam, if it lies in my power.”

“I needn't tell you our accommodation is very limited; and now Rose has returned, I fear----”

“I know what you are going to say,” interrupted Tankard. “You wish Mr. Liddel to have a bed at my house. I expected the request, and am, luckily, able to comply with it. He _shall_ have a room.”

“Upon my word, Mr. Tankard, I'm very much obliged to you,” said Walter.

“Not in the least,” rejoined Tankard. “But we must have a merry meeting to-night, Mrs. Hartley. You must all come and sup with me. Mr. Higgins, Lady Thicknesse's butler, has promised to give the pleasure of his company; and, since Miss Rose has returned, I'll ask Harry Netterville, of Gray's Inn, as I'm well aware she likes the society of that amiable and agreeable young man.”

“Pray don't ask Mr. Netterville on my account, Mr Tankard!” observed Rose, with affected indifference. “I'm not particularly anxious to meet him.”

Mr. Tankard, however, knew better; and said that as soon as he got back, he would send off a note to the young gentleman in question. Mr. Netterville, he explained to Walter, belonged to the legal profession, being clerk to an eminent solicitor in Gray's Inn.

“And now, Mr. Liddel, I must take you with me,” said Tankard. “I've got some arrangements to make with you. If we don't meet before,” he added to Rose and her mother, “I shall see you all at nine this evening--that's understood.”

Rose would have preferred Walter remaining a little longer, but as he promised to come round in the course of the afternoon, she felt quite reconciled to his departure.

Mr. Tankard first took his companion to the shop of Mr. Pledger Dapp, in the York Road. Mr. Dapp, as we have said, was a pastrycook and confectioner, and the numerous good things on the counter looked very tempting at that hour.

Mr. Dapp was delighted to see them, insisted on serving each with a basin of mock-turtle soup, and stood beside them while they discussed it at a small table at the further end of the room.

“Well, is all satisfactorily settled, may I inquire, Mr. Liddel?” he said.

“Yes; all's settled, Dapp,” said Tankard, answering for his friend. “The very livery is ready!”

“Indeed!” cried Walter, looking up in surprise. “Has it appeared by magic?”

“I've not yet had time to enter into details,” rejoined Tankard; “but when I saw Higgins this morning, he told me Lady Thicknesse had left the arrangements entirely to him, so we had only to talk them over together; and it was then agreed that he should come to my house this evening, where he could have an opportunity of meeting you, and judge for himself, though he entertained no doubt, from description, that you would suit.”

“So far good,” remarked Walter. “But about the livery?”

“You shall hear,” replied the other. “It seems that Charles Brownlow, the late footman, who was as near as possible your height and figure, was discharged at a moment's notice for impertinence. His livery, no doubt, will fit you.”

“But has he worn it?” cried Walter.

“No; it has not been delivered. Higgins will order the suit to be sent to me, so that you can try it in the evening, and we can judge of the effect.”

“A capital plan,” laughed Dapp.

“A dress rehearsal, in fact,” said Walter. “Well, it may be useful.”

“No doubt you'll play your part to perfection,” said Tankard.

“I shall see how I like it myself,” rejoined Walter. “This is why you've invited the party to supper, I conclude?”

“Exactly,” replied Tankard, laughing. “You've divined my purpose. By-the-by, Dapp, you must send me a good supper to-night--a very good supper, mind!”

“For how many guests?”

“A dozen; and make one of them yourself. That'll keep you up to the mark.

“I'll give you a supper worthy of the 'Silver Tankard,'” replied Dapp. “At what hour shall it be?

“Ten o'clock precisely. Direct Larkins to send me some flowers--cut flowers; and tell him to come, too. We'll do the thing in style.”

“Nothing shall be neglected. I know how particular you are,” replied Dapp. “But won't you take one of these?” he added, placing a dish of pates before them.

Just then he was obliged to leave his friends to attend to some customers. When a couple of pates had been devoured, Tankard and his companion arose, and quitted the shop.

“Who is that tall young man?” remarked one of the customers at the counter.

“Mr. Walter Liddel,” replied Dapp.

“I don't think that's the name,” said the individual. “I've heard it before, and feel almost certain it's not Liddel.”

Dapp made no remark at the time; but he afterwards pondered a little upon the matter.

“He's a very singular fellow, that Walter Liddel,” he thought. “I expect he'll turn out a Claimant of some sort, or he may be a dook in disguise. Shouldn't wonder.”

VII. TOM TANKARD.

|Mr. Tankard's establishment was larger and handsomer than Walter expected to find it. In the windows there was a very good display of china and glass, and the shop was tolerably spacious.

Mrs. Tankard, to whom he at once was presented, and who received him very kindly, was still goodlooking, though somewhat on the wane; but she was sharp and intelligent, and evidently very well able to attend to the business in her husband's absence.

The Tankards had an only son--an only child, we ought to say. Tom Tankard was a much smarter man than his father, and much more self-important. Like his father, he had a sobriquet, and was called “Cool Tankard.” Tom ought to have attended strictly to the shop; but being allowed to do pretty much as he liked, as a natural consequence he did little or nothing.

Tom was not handsome. On the contrary, he was decidedly an ugly dog. Short, fat, snub-nosed, round-faced, he had deep-seated, grey eyes, and these had a cunning, though rather comic, expression. His pink cheeks were totally destitute of whisker, and his whity-brown hair was cut extremely short.

A brown Newmarket coat was buttoned over his broad chest, but his shoulders were out of proportion with his spindling legs, which were cased in very tight trousers.

Nevertheless, Tom was a smart fellow in his way, though rather loud in his style, and exceedingly particular about the flaming colour of his tie and the size of his gold pin.

Now and then he used to drive in the Park when he could afford to hire a drag, and took some smart young ladies with him. More than once he had ridden at the Croydon Steeple-chases, and he occasionally contrived to attend a meet of the Surrey hounds.

Tom chanced to be in the shop when Walter came in with his father, and, being struck by his appearance, condescended to pay him some attention.

Mr. Tankard lost no time in informing his wife that Mr. Liddel would occupy a bed in the house for a night or two; and then went on to explain that he had invited a few friends for the evening, and had directed Pledger Dapp to send in a little supper--thinking it would save trouble.

Mrs. Tankard received the intelligence with great good nature, and Tom was told to take Mr. Liddel up-stairs and show him the spare room, which proved to be a very neat little chamber.

They were still talking together, when Mr. Tankard came up with a large brown-paper parcel, and, deeming it advisable to mystify his son, winked at Walter, to let him into his plan, and then said to the hopeful youth:

“Do you know, Tom, Mr. Liddel is going to a fancy dress ball?”

“How jolly!” exclaimed Tom. “What costume?”

“As a footman,” replied old Tankard. “Here's his dress.”

“As a footman!” exclaimed Tom, with a droll expression. “Jeames of Buckley Square--or Chawles. Well, he's just the figure for one of those gentry. Is he going to the ball to-night?”

“No; but I've persuaded him to appear in private at my little party this evening, that we may see how he looks.”

“Oh! he can't fail to look well,” said Tom, somewhat sarcastically. “But let's see the dress, guv'nor. Beg pardon, Mr. Liddel! I ought to have asked your permission.”

“Oh, don't stand on any ceremony with me, I beg!” cried Walter.

The parcel was then opened, and a very handsome suit of livery produced. There was likewise another rather smaller parcel inside.

“Here's a gorgeous coat! here's a brilliant pair of plooshes!” exclaimed Tom, holding up the latter. “You'll look uncommon well in these, Mr. Liddel.”

“No doubt he will,” said Mr. Tankard. “But no more of your chaff, sir.”

The smaller parcel was then opened, and was found to contain a pair of thin shoes, buckles, silk stockings, shirt, and white cravat.

“I was going to put you in mind, Mr. Liddel,” observed Tankard, “that you'd want several articles to rig you out completely--but here they all are. I dare say the shoes will fit you.”

“I'm certain of it,” replied Walter, examining them.

“Another thing mustn't be forgotten, Mr. Liddel,” said Tom. “Since you're going to appear as Jeames, or Chawles, you'll want your 'air powderin'. I'll get you a _coiffeur_. When will you have him?”

“Not till evening,” replied Walter.

“Very good,” said Tom. “He shall be here at eight.”

“Now, go down to the shop, Tom,” cried Mr. Tankard. “Send off a note at once to Harry Netterville, and ask him to supper. Consult your mother, and if she approves, ask Mrs. Tripp and Clotilde, Mrs. Sicklemore and Flora, or anybody else agreeable to her, but don't exceed half a dozen, for we have got five or six already.

“Counting Harry Netterville?”

“No; not counting him.”

“You've seen Rose Hartley, of course, Mr. Liddel?” cried Tom. “Sweet girl, ain't she? Harry Netterville is rather smitten in that quarter.'

“Then give him the chance of meeting her,” said his father.

Thereupon Tom disappeared.

After an early dinner with the Tankards, Walter betook himself to Spencer's Rents, and saw Rose, who was alone in the little parlour. Evidently she regarded him with more interest than she had done.

“My mother has told me all about you, Mr. Liddel,” she said, “at least, all she knows, and I feel exceedingly sorry for you. But I hope all will soon be right. I am neither old enough nor wise enough to give you advice, nor is it right or proper for me to do so, but I am sorry you are thinking of becoming a footman. I feel quite sure you are a gentleman--”

“I have been one,” interrupted Walter. “But I have no money, and must do something. The offer was made me, and I accepted it. Any honest employment is respectable.”

“So it is, undoubtedly. What I fear is that you may hereafter regret having taken the step.”

“I can leave if I don't like the employment. But I must say you talk very sensibly, Miss Rose. I wish I had had such a counsellor a year or two ago, before I committed my worst follies.”

“You wouldn't have listened to me,” she replied, shaking her head.

“I don't know--I might have done. But your remarks seem to produce some salutary effect upon me, and that is more than I could say of myself formerly.”

“Then you are improved by misfortune.”

“In some respects, I think I am. But there is considerable room for further improvement.”

“Mr. Liddel, I am convinced you have a great deal of good in you. Only do yourself justice.”

“I will try,” he replied. “But how is it, I must again ask, that you, who are so young, are able to give such sensible advice?”

“I have a good mother,” she replied.

At this very moment Mrs. Hartley came into the room.

“I hope you heard what was said of you, ma'am?” observed Walter. “Your daughter has just been telling me how much she owes you.”

“I owe quite as much to her,” cried the good dame, affectionately. “She is the joy of the house, and I don't know what I shall do when I lose her. But I suppose I must make up my mind to it one of these days.”

“Not yet, dearest mother,” said Rose.

“I suppose we shall meet the fortunate individual this evening?” observed Walter. “Mr. Harry Netterville, eh?”

“Yes, that's the name; and a very nice young fellow he is,” replied Mrs. Hartley. “I only wish he was a little richer.”

“Well, we must wait contentedly till he becomes so,” sighed Rose. “Poverty and happiness don't go together in married life.”

“Again I must compliment you on your good sense, Miss Rose,” remarked Walter.

“That's one of my mother's maxims,” she rejoined. “But don't call me _Miss_ Rose, please. After the service you rendered me this morning, I shall always regard you as a friend, and so will Harry!”

“I think I told you that Romney, the insolent fellow by whom you were affronted, was one of those who mainly contributed to my ruin?” remarked Walter. “He is a great libertine, and I hope you may experience no more annoyance from him. I may not always be at hand to protect you.”