"I shall trespass on you for only a few minutes, ladies," said he, diffidently, approaching the chair towards which he was motioned. "I could not resist the opportunity so politely afforded me by Mr. Aubrey of paying my compliments here, and personally assuring you of my utter abhorrence of the mercenary and oppressive conduct of a person with whom, alas! I am closely connected in business, and whose letter to you of this evening I only casually became acquainted with, a few moments before starting off hither. Forget it, ladies; I pledge my honor that it shall never be acted on!" This he said with a fervor of manner that could not but make an impression on those whom he addressed.
"I'm sure we are happy to see you, Mr. Gammon, and very much obliged to you, indeed," said Mrs. Aubrey, with a sweet smile, and a face from which alarm was vanishing fast. Miss Aubrey said nothing; her brilliant eyes glanced with piercing anxiety, now at her brother, then at his companion. Gammon felt that he was distrusted. Nothing could be more prepossessing—more bland and insinuating, without a trace of fulsomeness, than his manner and address, as he took his seat between these two agitated but lovely women. Miss Aubrey's paleness rather suddenly gave way to a vivid and beautiful flush; and her eyes presently sparkled with delighted surprise on perceiving the relieved air of her brother, and the apparent cordiality and sincerity of Mr. Gammon. When she reflected, moreover, on her expressions of harshness and severity concerning him that very evening, and of which he now appeared so undeserving, it threw into her manner towards him a sort of delicate and charming embarrassment. Her ear drank in eagerly every word he uttered, so pointed, so significant, so full of earnest good-will towards her brother. Their visitor's manner was that of a gentleman; his countenance and conversation were those of a man of intellect. Was this the keen and cruel pettifogger whom she had learned at once to dread and to despise? They and he were, in a word, completely at their ease with one another, within a few minutes after he had taken his seat at the tea-table. Miss Aubrey's beauty shone that evening with even unwonted lustre, and appeared as if it had not been in the least impaired by the anguish of mind which she had so long suffered. 'Tis quite impossible for me to do justice to the expression of her full beaming blue eyes—an expression of mingled passion and intellect—of blended softness and spirit—such as, especially in conjunction with the rich tones of her voice, shed something like madness into the breast of Gammon. She, as well as her lovely sister-in-law, was dressed in mourning, which infinitely set off her dazzling complexion, and, simple and elegant in its drapery, displayed her exquisite proportions to the greatest possible advantage. "Oh, my God!" thought Gammon, with a momentary thrill of disgust and horror: "and this is the transcendent creature of whom that little miscreant, Titmouse, spoke to me in terms of such presumptuous and revolting license!" What would he not have given to kiss the fair and delicate white hand which passed to him his antique tea-cup! Then Gammon's thoughts turned for a moment inward—why, what a scoundrel was he! At that instant he was, as it were, reeking with his recent lie. He was there on cruel, false pretences, which alone had secured him access into that little drawing-room, and brought him into contiguity with the dazzling beauty beside him—pure, and innocent as beautiful;—he was a fiend beside an angel. What an execrable hypocrite was he! He caught, on that memorable occasion, a sudden glimpse even of his own real inner man—of his infernal SELFISHNESS and HYPOCRISY—and involuntarily shuddered! Yes—he was striving to fascinate his victims!—those whom he was fast pressing on to the verge of destruction—against whom he was, at that moment, meditating profound and subtle schemes of mischief! At length they all got into animated conversation.
Though infinitely charmed by the unaffected simplicity and frankness of their manners, he experienced a sad and painful consciousness at not having made the least way with them. Though physically near to them, he seemed yet really at an unapproachable distance—and particularly from Miss Aubrey. He felt that the courtesy bestowed upon him was accidental, the result merely of his present position, and of the intelligence which he had come to communicate. It was not personal—'twas nothing to Gammon himself; it would never be renewed, unless he should renew his device! There was not the faintest semblance of sympathy between them and him. Fallen as they were into a lower sphere, they had yet about them, so to speak, a certain atmosphere of conscious personal consequence, derived from high birth and breeding—from superior feelings and associations—from a native frankness and dignity of character, which was indestructible and inalienable; and which chilled and checked undue advances of any sort. They were still the Aubreys of Yatton, and he in their presence, still Mr. Gammon of the firm of Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, of Saffron Hill—and all this, too, without—on the part of the Aubreys—the least effort, the least intention, or even consciousness. No, there had not been exhibited towards him the faintest indication of hauteur. On the contrary, he had been treated with perfect cordiality and frankness. Yet, dissatisfaction and vexation were, he scarce knew at the moment why, pervading his whole soul. Had he accurately analyzed his own feelings he would have discovered the real clause—in his own unreasonable, unjustifiable wishes and intentions! But to return, they talked of Titmouse, and his mode of life and conduct—of his expected alliance with the Lady Cecilia, at the mention of which Gammon's quick eye detected a passing smile of scorn on Miss Aubrey's fine countenance, that was death to all his own fond and ambitious hopes. After he had been sitting with them for scarcely an hour, he detected Miss Aubrey stealthily glancing at her watch, and at once arose to take his departure with a very easy and graceful air, expressing an apprehension that he had trespassed upon their kindness. He was cordially assured to the contrary; but at the same time was not invited either to prolong his stay, or renew his visit. Miss Aubrey made him, he thought, as he inclined towards her, rather a formal courtesy; and the tone of voice—soft and silvery—in which she said "good-night, Mr. Gammon," fell on his eager ear, and sank into his vexed heart, like music. On quitting the house, a deep sigh of disappointment escaped him. As he gazed for a moment with longing eyes at the windows of the room in which Miss Aubrey was sitting, he felt profound depression of spirit. He had altogether failed; and he had a sort of insupportable consciousness that he deserved to fail, on every account. Her image was before his mind's eye every moment while he was threading his way back to his chambers in Thavies' Inn. He sat for an hour or two before the remnant of his fire, lost in a revery; and sleep came not to his eyes till a very late hour in the morning.
Just as the tortuous mind of Gammon was loosing hold of its sinister purposes in sleep, Mr. Aubrey might have been seen taking his seat in his little study, having himself spent a restless night. 'Twas little more than half-past four o'clock when he entered, candle in hand, the scene of his early and cheerful labors, and sat down before his table, which was covered with loose manuscripts and books. His face was certainly overcast with anxiety, but his soul was calm and resolute. Having lit his fire, he placed his shaded candle upon the table, and leaning back for a moment in his chair, while the flickering increasing light of his crackling fire and of the candle, revealed to him, with a sense of indescribable snugness, his shelves crammed with books, and the window covered with an ample crimson curtain, effectually excluding the chill morning air—he reflected with a heavy sigh upon the precarious tenure by which he held the little comforts yet thus left to him. Oh, thought he—if Providence saw fit to relieve me from the frightful pressure of liability under which I am bound to the earth, at what labor, at what privation would I repine! What gladness would not spring up in my heart!—But rousing himself from vain thoughts of this kind, he began to arrange his manuscripts; when his ear caught a sound on the stair—'twas the light stealthy step of his sister, coming down to perform her promised undertaking—not an unusual one by any means—to transcribe for the press the manuscript which he expected to complete that morning. "My sweet Kate," said he, tenderly, as she entered with her little chamber light, extinguishing it as she entered,—"I am really grieved to see you stirring so early—do, dearest Kate—go back to bed." But she kissed his cheek affectionately, and refused to do any such thing; and telling him of the restless night she had passed, of which indeed her pale and depressed features bore but too legible evidence, she sat herself down in her accustomed place, nearly opposite to him; gently cleared away space enough for her little desk, and then opening it, was presently engaged in her delightful task—for to her it was indeed delightful—of copying out her brother's composition. Thus she sat, silent and industrious—scarce opening her lips, except to ask him to explain an illegible word or so—opposite to her doting brother, till the hour had arrived—eight o'clock—for the close of their morning toil. The reader will be pleased to hear that the article on which they had been thus engaged—and which was the discussion of a question of foreign politics, of great difficulty and importance—produced him a check for sixty guineas, and excited general attention and admiration. Oh, how precious was this reward of his honorable and severe toil! How it cheered him who had earned it, and those who were, alas! entirely dependent upon his exertions! And how sensibly, too, it augmented their little means! Grateful, indeed, were all of them for the success which had attended his labors!
As I do not intend to occupy the reader with any details relating to Mr. Aubrey's Temple avocations, I shall content myself with saying that the more Mr. Weasel and Mr. Aubrey came to know of each other, the more Aubrey respected his legal knowledge and ability, and he, Aubrey's intellectual energy and successful application; which, indeed, consciously brought home to Aubrey its own reward, in the daily acquisition of solid learning, and increasing facility in the use of it. His mind was formed for THINGS, and was not apt to occupy itself with mere words, or technicalities. He was ever in quest of the principles of law—of its reason, and spirit. He quickly began to appreciate the sound practical good sense on which almost all its chief rules are founded, and the effectual manner in which they are accommodated to the innumerable and ever-varying exigencies of human affairs. The mere forms and technicalities of the law, Mr. Aubrey often thought might be compared to short-hand, whose characters to the uninitiated appear quaint and useless, but are perfectly invaluable to him who has seen the object, and patiently acquired the use of them. Whatever Mr. Aubrey's hand found to do, while studying the law, he did it, indeed, with his might—which is the grand secret of the difference in the success of different persons addressing themselves to legal studies. Great or small, easy or difficult, simple or complicated, interesting or uninteresting, as might be the affair submitted to him, he made a point of mastering it thoroughly, and, as far as possible, by his own efforts; which generated, early, a habit of self-reliance which no one better than he knew the value of—how inestimable, how indispensable, not to the lawyer merely, but to any one intrusted with the responsible management of affairs. In short, he secured that satisfaction and success which are sure to attend the exertions of a man of superior sense and spirit, who is in earnest about that which he has undertaken. He frequently surprised Mr. Weasel with the exactness and extent of his legal information—with his acuteness, clear-headedness, and tenacity in dealing with matters of downright difficulty: and Mr. Weasel had once or twice an opportunity of expressing his very flattering opinion concerning Mr. Aubrey to the Attorney-General. The mention of that eminent person reminds me of an observation which I intended to have made some time ago. The reader is not to imagine, from my silence upon the subject, that Mr. Aubrey, in his fallen fortunes, was heartlessly forgotten or neglected by the distinguished friends and associates of former and more prosperous days. It was not they who withdrew from him, but he who withdrew from them; and that, too, of set purpose, resolutely adhered to, on the ground that it could not be otherwise, without seriously interfering with the due prosecution of those plans of life on which depended not only his all, and that of those connected with him—but his fond hopes of yet extricating himself, by his own personal exertions, from the direful difficulties and dangers which at present environed him—of achieving, with his own right hand, independence. Let me not forget here to state a fact which I conceive infinitely to redound to poor Aubrey's honor—viz. that he thrice refused offers made him from very high quarters, of considerable sinecures, i. e. handsome salaries for purely nominal services—which he was earnestly and repeatedly reminded would at once afford him a liberal maintenance, and leave the whole of his time at his own disposal, to follow any pursuit or profession which he chose. Mr. Aubrey justly considered that it was very difficult, if not indeed impossible, for any honorable and high-minded man to be a sinecurist.—He who holds a sinecure, is, in my opinion, plundering the public; and how it can be more contrary to the dictates of honor and justice, deliberately to defraud an individual, than deliberately and audaciously to defraud that collection of individuals called the public, let casuists determine. As for Mr. Aubrey, he saw stretching before him the clear, straight, bright line of honor, and resolved to follow it, without faltering or wavering, come what come might. He resolved that, with the blessing of Providence, his own exertions should procure his bread, and, if such was the will of Heaven, lead him to distinction among mankind. He had formed this determination, and resolved to work it out—never to pause, nor give way, but to die in the struggle. Such a spirit must conquer whatever is opposed to it. What is difficulty? Only a word indicating the degree of strength requisite for accomplishing particular objects; a mere notice of the necessity for exertion; a bugbear to children and fools; an effective stimulus to men.
Mr. Gammon experienced little trouble in wheedling Mr. Quirk out of his purpose of enforcing payment, by Mr. Aubrey, of the balance of his account; demonstrating to the old gentleman the policy of waiting a little longer. He pledged himself, when the proper time came, to adopt measures of undoubted efficacy—assuring his for some time sullen senior, in a low tone, that since his letter had reached Mr. Aubrey, circumstances had occurred which would render it in the last degree dangerous to press that gentleman upon the subject. What that was, which had happened, Mr. Gammon, as usual, refused to state. This was a considerable source of vexation to Mr. Quirk: but he had a far greater one, in the decisive and final overthrow of his fondly-cherished hopes concerning his daughter's alliance with Titmouse. The paragraph in the Aurora, announcing Mr. Titmouse's engagement to his brilliant relative, the Lady Cecilia, had emanated from the pen of Mr. Gammon; who had had several objects in view in giving early publicity to the event. Happening(!) on the morning on which it appeared, to be glancing over the fascinating columns of the Aurora at a public office, (the paper taken in at their own establishment being the Morning Growl,) he made a point of purchasing that day's Aurora; and on returning to Saffron Hill, he inquired whether Mr. Quirk were at home. Hearing that he was sitting alone, in his room—in rushed Mr. Gammon, breathless with surprise and haste, and plucking the newspaper out of his pocket,—"By Heavens, Mr. Quirk!"—he almost gasped as he doubled down the paper to the place where stood the announcement in question, and put it into Mr. Quirk's hands,—"this young fellow's given you the slip, after all! See!—The moment that my back is turned"–
Mr. Quirk having, with a little trepidation, adjusted his spectacles, perused the paragraph with a somewhat flushed face. He had, in fact, for some time had grievous misgivings on the subject of his chance of becoming the father-in-law of his distinguished client, Mr. Titmouse; but now his faintest glimmering of hope was suddenly and completely extinguished, and the old gentleman felt quite desolate. He looked up, as soon as he had finished reading, and gazed ruefully at his indignant and sympathizing companion.
"It seems all up, Gammon, certainly—don't it?" said he, faintly, with a flustered air.
"Indeed, my dear Mr. Quirk, it does! You have my sincerest"–
"Now comes t'other end of the thing, Gammon! You know every promise of marriage has two ends—one joins the heart, and t'other the pocket; out heart, in pocket—so have at him, Gammon—have at him, by Jove!" He rose up and rubbed his hands as he stood before the fire. "Breach of promise—thundering damages—devilish deep purse—special jury—broken heart, and all that! I wish he'd written her—by the way—more letters! Adad, I'll have a shot at him by next assizes—a writ on the file this very day! What d'ye think on't, friend Gammon, between ourselves?" quoth Mr. Quirk, heatedly.
"Why, my dear sir—to tell you the truth—aren't you really well out of it? He's a miserable little upstart—he'd have made a wretched husband for so superior a girl as Miss Quirk."
"Ay—ay! ay! She is a good girl, Gammon—there you're right; would have made the best of wives—my eyes, (between ourselves!) how that'll go to the jury! Gad, I fancy I see'em—perhaps all of'em daughters of their own."
"Looking at the thing calmly, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon, gravely—apprehensive of Mr. Quirk's carrying too far so very absurd an affair—"where's the evidence of the promise?—Because, you know, there's certainly something depends on that—eh?"
"Evidence? Deuce take you, Gammon! where are your wits? Evidence? Lots—lots of it! A'n't there I—her father? A'n't I a competent32 witness? Wait and see old Caleb Quirk get into the box. I'll settle his hash in half a minute."
"Yes—if you're believed, perhaps."
"Believe be–! Who's to be believed, if her own father isn't?"
"Why, you may be too much swayed by your own feelings!"
"Feelings be–! It's past all that; he has none—so he must pay, for he has cash! He ought to be made an example of!"
"Still, to come to the point, Mr. Quirk, I vow it quite teases me—this matter of the evidence"–
"Evidence? Why, Lord bless my soul, Gammon," quoth Quirk, testily, "haven't you had your eyes and ears open all this while? Gad, what a crack witness you'd make! A man of your—your intellect—serve a friend at a pinch—and in a matter about his daughter? Ah, how often you've seen'em together—walking, talking, laughing, dancing, riding—writ in her album—made her presents, and she him. Evidence? Oceans of it, and to spare! Secure Subtle—and I wouldn't take £5,000 for my verdict!"
"Why, you see, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon, very seriously—"though I've striven my utmost these six months to bring it about, the artful little scamp has never given me the least thing that I could lay hold of, and swear to."
"Oh, you'll recollect enough, in due time, friend Gammon, if you'll only turn your attention to it; and if you'll bear in mind it's life and death to my poor girl. Oh Lord! I must get my sister to break it to her, and I'll send sealed instructions to Mr. – Weasel, shall we say? or Lynx? ay, Lynx; for he'll then have to fight for his own pleadings; and can't turn round at the trial and say, 'this is not right,' and 'that's wrong,' and, 'why didn't you have such and such evidence?' Lynx is the man; and I'll lay the venue in Yorkshire, for Titmouse is devilish disliked down there; and a special jury will be only too glad to give him a desperate slap in the chops! We'll lay the damages at twenty thousand pounds! Ah, ha! I'll teach the young villain to break the hearts of an old man and his daughter. But, egad," he pulled out his watch, "half-past two; and Nicky Crowbar sure to be put up at three! By Jove! it won't do to be out of the way; he's head of the gang, and they always come down very liberally when they're in trouble. Snap! Amminadab! hollo! who's there? Drat them all, why don't they speak?" The old gentleman was soon, however, attended to.
"Are they here?" he inquired, as Mr. Amminadab entered.
"Yes, sir, all three; and the coach is at the door, too. Nicky Crowbar's to be up at three, sir"–
"I see—I know—I'm ready," replied Mr. Quirk, who was presently seated in the coach with three gentlemen, to whom he minutely explained the person of Mr. Nicky Crowbar, and the place at which it was quite certain that Mr. Crowbar could not have been at half-past eleven o'clock on Tuesday night the 9th of July, seeing that it did so happen that at that precise time he was elsewhere, in company with these very three gentlemen—to wit, at Chelsea, and not at Clapham! In short, this was a first-rate ALIBI.
Though Mr. Gammon thus sympathized with one of the gentle beings who had been "rifled of all their sweetness," I grieve to say that the other, Miss Tag-rag, never occupied his thoughts for one moment. He neither knew nor cared whether or not she was apprised of the destruction of all her fond hopes, by the paragraph which had appeared in the Aurora. He felt, in fact, that he had really done enough, on the part of Mr. Titmouse, for his early friend and patron, Mr. Tag-rag, on whom the stream of fortune had set in strong and steady; and, in short, Mr. Gammon knew that Mr. Tag-rag had received a substantial memento of his connection with Tittlebat Titmouse. How truly disinterested a man was Mr. Gammon towards all with whom he came in contact! What had he not done, as I have been saying, for the Tag-rags? What for Mr. Titmouse? What for the Earl of Dreddlington? What for Mr. Quirk, and even Snap? As for Mr. Quirk, had he not been put in possession of his long-coveted bond for £10,000? of which, by the way, he allotted £1,000 only to the man—Mr. Gammon—by whose unwearying exertions and consummate ability he had obtained so splendid a prize, and £300 to Mr. Snap! Then, had not Mr. Quirk also been paid his bill against Titmouse of £5,000 and upwards, and £2,500 by Mr. Aubrey? And, governed by the articles of their partnership, what a lion's half of this spoil had not been appropriated to the respectable old head of the firm? Mr. Gammon did undoubtedly complain indignantly of the trifling portion allotted to him, but he was encountered by such a desperate pertinacity on the part of Mr. Quirk as baffled him entirely, and caused him to abandon his further claim in disgust and despair. Thus, the £20,000 obtained by Mr. Titmouse, on mortgage of the Yatton property, was reduced at once to the sum of £5,000;—but out of this handsome balance had yet to come, first, £800, with interest, due to Mr. Quirk for subsistence-money advanced to Titmouse; secondly, £500 due to Mr. Snap, for moneys alleged to have been also lent by him to his friend Titmouse at different times, in the manner which has been already explained to the reader—Snap's demand for repayment being accompanied by verbatim copies—such he stated them to be—of between forty and fifty memoranda—many of them in pencil—notes of hand, receipts, I. O. U.'s, &c., in whose handwriting the figures representing the sums lent, and the times when, could not be ascertained, and did not signify: it being, in point of law, good primâ facie evidence for Snap, in the event of a trial, simply to produce the documents and prove the signature of his friend Mr. Titmouse.33 That gentleman discharged a volley of imprecations at Snap's head, on receiving this unexpected claim, and referred it to Mr. Gammon; who, after subjecting it to a bonâ fide and very rigorous examination, found it in vain to attempt to resist, or even diminish it; such perfect method and accuracy had Snap observed in his accounts, that they secured him a clear gain of £350; the difference between that sum and £500, being the amount actually and bonâ fide advanced by him to Titmouse. Deducting, therefore, £1,300, (the amount of the two minor demands of £800 and £500 above specified,) there remained to Mr. Titmouse out of the £20,000 the sum of £3,700; and he ought to have been thankful; for he might have got nothing—or even have been brought in debtor to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. I say that Mr. Gammon would seem, from the above statement of accounts, not to have been dealt with in any degree adequately to his merits. He felt such to be his case; but soon reconciled himself to it, occupied as he was with arduous and extensive speculations, amid all the complication of which he never for a moment lost sight of one object, viz.—himself. His schemes were boldly conceived, and he went about the accomplishment of them with equal patience and sagacity. Almost everything was at present going on as he could have wished. He had contrived to place himself in a very convenient fast-and-loose sort of position with reference to his fellow-partners—one which admitted of his easily disengaging himself from them, whenever the proper time should have arrived for taking such a step. He was absolute and paramount over Titmouse, and could always secure his instant submission, by virtue of the fearful and mysterious talisman which he occasionally flashed before his startled eyes. He had acquired great influence, also, over the Earl of Dreddlington—an influence which was constantly on the increase; and had seen come to pass an event which he judged to be of great importance to him—namely, the engagement between Titmouse and the Lady Cecilia. Yet was there one object which he had proposed to himself as incalculably valuable and supremely desirable—as the consummation of all his designs and wishes; I mean the obtaining the hand of Miss Aubrey—and in which he had yet a fearful misgiving of failure. But he was a man whose courage rose with every obstacle; and he fixedly resolved within himself, to succeed, at any cost. 'Twas not alone his exquisite appreciation of her personal beauty, her grace, her accomplishments, her lovely temper, her lofty spirit, her high birth—objects all of them dazzling enough to a man of such a powerful and ambitious mind, and placed in such circumstances in life as Gammon. There were certain other considerations, intimately involved in all his calculations, which—as may possibly become apparent hereafter—rendered success in this affair a matter of vital consequence—nay, indispensable. Knowing, as I do, what had passed at different times between that proud and determined girl and her constant and enthusiastic lover, Mr. Delamere, I am as certain as a man can be of anything that has not actually happened, that, though she may possibly not be fated to become Mrs. Delamere, she will certainly NEVER become—Mrs. Gammon!—Loving Kate as I do, and being thoroughly acquainted with Gammon, I feel deep interest in his movements, and am watching them with great apprehension:—she, lovely, innocent, unsuspicious; he, subtle, selfish, unscrupulous, desperate! And he has great power in his hands: is he not silently surrounding his destined prey with unperceived, but apparently inextricable meshes? God guard thee, my Kate, and reward thy noble devotion to thy brother and his fallen fortunes! Do we chide thee for clinging to them with fond tenacity in their extremity, when thou art daily importuned to enter into that station which thou wouldst so adorn?
Gammon's reception by the Aubreys, in Vivian Street—kind and courteous though it had surely been—had ever since rankled in his heart. Their abstaining from a request to him to prolong his stay, or to renew his visit, he had noted at the time, and had ever since reflected upon it with pique and discouragement. Nevertheless, he was resolved at all hazards to become at least an occasional visitor in Vivian Street. When a fortnight had elapsed without any further intimation to Mr. Aubrey concerning the dreaded balance due to the firm, Gammon ventured to call upon him, for the purpose of assuring Mr. Aubrey that it was no mere temporary lull; that he might divest his mind of all uneasiness on the subject; and of asking whether he (Gammon) had not told Mr. Aubrey truly that he both could and would restrain the hand of Mr. Quirk. Could Mr. Aubrey be otherwise than grateful for such active, effectual, and manifestly disinterested kindness? Again Gammon made his appearance at Mrs. Aubrey's tea-table—and was again received with all the sweetness and frankness of manner which he had formerly experienced from her and Miss Aubrey. Again he called, on some adroit pretext or another—and once heard Miss Aubrey's rich voice and exquisite performance on the piano. He became subject to emotions and impulses of such a sort as he had never before experienced; yet, whenever he retired from their fascinating society, he was conscious of an aching void, as it were, within—he perceived the absence of all sympathy towards him; he felt indignant—but that did not quench the ardor of his aspirations. 'Tis hardly necessary to say, that on every occasion, Gammon effectually concealed the profound and agitating feelings which the sight of Miss Aubrey called forth in him; and what a tax was this upon his powers of self-control! How he laid himself out to amuse and interest them all! With what racy humor would he describe the vulgar absurdities of Titmouse—the stately eccentricities of the Dreddlingtons! With what eager and breathless interest was he listened to! Few men could make themselves more completely agreeable than Gammon; and the ladies really took pleasure in his society; Kate being, all the while, about as far from any notion of the real state of his feelings, as is my fair reader of what is at this moment going on in the dog-star. Her reserve towards him sensibly lessened; why, indeed, should she feel it, towards one of whom Dr. Tatham spoke so highly, and who appeared to justify his eulogium? Moreover, Mr. Gammon took special care to speak in the most unreserved and unqualified manner of the mean and mercenary character of Mr. Quirk—of the miserable style of business in which he, Mr. Gammon, was compelled, for only a short time longer, he trusted, to participate, and which was really revolting to his own feelings. He did his best, in short, to cause himself to appear a sensitive and high-minded man, whose unhappy fate it had been to be yoked with those who were the reverse. Mr. Aubrey regarded him from time to time with silent anxiety and interest, as one who had it in his power, at any instant he might choose, to cause the suspended sword to fall upon him; at whose will and pleasure he continued in the enjoyment of his present domestic happiness, instead of being incarcerated in prison; but who had hitherto evinced a disposition of signal forbearance, sincere good-nature, and disinterestedness. They often used to speak of him, and compare the impression which his person and conduct had produced in their minds; and in two points they agreed—that he certainly exhibited anxiety to render himself agreeable; and that there was a certain something about his eye which none of them liked. It seemed as though he had in a manner two natures; and that one of them was watching the effect of the efforts made by the other to beguile!