I did, indeed; and you may,
therefore, judge of my surprise when, some years since, being in the
metropolis, I met you, and you shunned my company." --"Yes; but, at last,
you found out why it was that I shunned your company." "I did. You yourself told me once that I met you, and would not leave
you, but insisted upon your dining with me. Then you told me, when you
found that I would take no other course whatever, that you were no other
than the--the----"--

"Out with it! I can bear to hear it now better than I could then! I told
you that I was the common hangman of London!" "You did, I must confess, to my most intense surprise." "Yes, and yet you kept to me; and, but that I respected you too much to
allow you to do so, you would, from old associations, have countenanced
me; but I could not, and I would not, let you do so. I told you then
that, although I held the terrible office, that I had not been yet
called upon to perform its loathsome functions. Soon--soon--come the
first effort--it was the last!" "Indeed! You left the dreadful trade?" "I did--I did. But what I want to tell you, for I could not then, was
why I went ever to it. The wounds my heart had received were then too
fresh to allow me to speak of them, but I will tell you now. The story
is a brief one, Mr. Chillingworth. I pray you be seated." CHAPTER LXXII. THE STRANGE STORY.--THE ARRIVAL OF THE MOB AT THE HALL, AND THEIR
DISPERSION. [Illustration]

"You will find that the time which elapsed since I last saw you in
London, to have been spent in an eventful, varied manner." --"You were in
good circumstances then," said Mr. Chillingworth.--"I was, but many
events happened after that which altered the prospect; made it even more
gloomy than you can well imagine: but I will tell you all candidly, and
you can keep watch upon Bannerworth Hall at the same time. You are well
aware that I was well to do, and had ample funds, and inclination to
spend them." --"I recollect: but you were married then, surely?" --"I
was," said the stranger, sadly, "I was married then." --"And now?" --"I am
a widower." The stranger seemed much moved, but, after a moment or so,
he resumed--"I am a widower now; but how that event came about is partly
my purpose to tell you. I had not married long--that is very long--for I
have but one child, and she is not old, or of an age to know much more
than what she may be taught; she is still in the course of education. I
was early addicted to gamble; the dice had its charms, as all those who
have ever engaged in play but too well know; it is perfectly
fascinating." --"So I have heard," said Mr. Chillingworth; "though, for
myself, I found a wife and professional pursuits quite incompatible with
any pleasure that took either time or resources." --

"It is so. I would I had never entered one of those houses where men are
deprived of their money and their own free will, for at the
gambling-table you have no liberty, save that in gliding down the stream
in company with others. How few have ever escaped destruction--none, I
believe--men are perfectly fascinated; it is ruin alone that enables a
man to see how he has been hurried onwards without thought or
reflection; and how fallacious were all the hopes he ever entertained! Yes, ruin, and ruin alone, can do this; but, alas! 'tis then too
late--the evil is done. Soon after my marriage I fell in with a
Chevalier St. John. He was a man of the world in every sense of the
word, and one that was well versed in all the ways of society. I never
met with any man who was so perfectly master of himself, and of perfect
ease and self-confidence as he was. He was never at a loss, and, come
what would, never betrayed surprise or vexation--two qualities, he
thought, never ought to be shown by any man who moved in society." --

"Indeed!" --"He was a strange man--a very strange man." --

"Did he gamble?" --

"It is difficult to give you a correct and direct answer. I should say
he did, and yet he never lost or won much; but I have often thought he
was more connected with those who did than was believed." --

"Was that a fact?" inquired Mr. Chillingworth.--

"You shall see as we go on, and be able to judge for yourself. I have
thought he was. Well, he first took me to a handsome saloon, where
gambling was carried on. We had been to the opera. As we came out, he
recommended that we should sup at a house where he was well known, and
where he was in the habit of spending his evenings after the opera, and
before he retired. I agreed to this. I saw no reason why I should not. We went there, and bitterly have I repented of so doing for years since,
and do to this day." --

"Your repentance has been sincere and lasting," said Mr. Chillingworth;
"the one proves the other." --"It does; but I thought not so then. The
place was glittering, and the wine good. It was a kind of earthly
paradise; and when we had taken some wine, the chevalier said to me,--

"'I am desirous of seeing a friend backwards; he is at the hazard-table. Will you go with me?' --I hesitated. I feared to see the place where a
vice was carried on. I knew myself inclined to prudential motives. I
said to him,--'No, St. John, I'll wait here for you; it may be as
well--the wine is good, and it will content me?' "'Do so,' he said, smiling; 'but remember I seldom or never play myself,
nor is there any reason why you should.' --'I'll go, but I will not
play.' --'Certainly not; you are free alike to look on, play, or quit the
place at any moment you please, and not be noticed, probably, by a
single soul.' "I arose, and we walked backwards, having called one of the men who were
waiting about, but who were watchers and door-keepers of the 'hell.' We
were led along the passage, and passed through the pair of doors, which
were well secured and rendered the possibility of a surprise almost
impossible. After these dark places, we were suddenly let into a place
where we were dazzled by the light and brilliancy of the saloon. It was
not so large as the one we left, but it was superior to it in all its
appointments. "At first I could not well see who was, or who was not, in the room
where we were. As soon, however, as I found the use of my eyes, I
noticed many well-dressed men, who were busily engaged in play, and who
took no notice of any one who entered. We walked about for some minutes
without speaking to any one, but merely looking on. I saw men engaged in
play; some with earnestness, others again with great nonchalance, and
money changed hands without the least remark. There were but few who
spoke, and only those in play. There was a hum of conversation; but you
could not distinguish what was said, unless you paid some attention to,
and was in close vicinity with, the individual who spoke. "'Well,' said St. John, 'what do you think of this place?' --'Why,' I
replied, 'I had no notion of seeing a place fitted up as this is.' "'No; isn't it superb?' --'It is beautifully done.