chimed in Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible together. "The world is well rid of such a pair of jail birds," said Mr. Hardcase;
"only it is a pity that they were allowed to cheat the gallows." "Poor Helen!" sighed Parnassus; "I think there is matter for an epic
poem in her misadventure." "You are right," agreed Mr. Blackdeed. "The incident was pre-eminently
dramatic; just suited to the stage, and would certainly bring down the
house. I intend to dramatise it at my earliest convenience." "And how is our patient, Dame Hearty?" enquired Dr. Bleedem of our
hostess, who was waiting upon the members at table this morning instead
of her daughter. "Still very feverish, doctor," was the reply. "The poor child has caught
a dreadful cold from being turned out of her warm bed and carried into
the cold night air and the snow by those ruffians, and she with scarce a
stitch of clothing on." "Poor dear!" cried Dr. Bleedem, compassionately. "I'll come and see how
she is getting on after breakfast." "Why, doctor," observed Mr. Crucible, "you've got your work pretty well
cut out for you. There's his lordship--well, you can dissect him; and
his man, too, for the matter of that. Then there's the coachman, who was
brought back here in his lordship's carriage early this morning, with
his shoulder-blade broken; then the horses, with their knees broken: and
now it's our sweet Helen----"

"Say, doctor," broke in Professor Cyanite, "was that rascally bully
sufficiently conscious before his death to give an account of himself?" "Oh, yes, he was conscious, though he hadn't time to say much. I saw
from the first that the case was fatal. He admitted that he had been a
d----d scoundrel, but added that his lordship was every whit as bad--and
worse. He alleged that had he taken a situation as servant under an
honest man, instead of entering the service of an unprincipled rake and
debauchee like Lord Scampford, that he himself might have become an
honest man. He showed some contrition for the part he had played last
night, and begged me to ask the lady's forgiveness for the same, as well
as to pray for his soul. Then his mind seemed to wander, and he called
out: 'There's his lordship! I see him enveloped in a sheet of flame,
with fire issuing from his eyes and mouth, and from the tips of his
fingers. He is beckoning to me! He is calling me down to Hell! How
horrible the forms that hover round me. Mercy! mercy! Oh! my God,' Here
he uttered a despairing groan, and spoke no more." "Ha! Quite dramatic again," remarked the tragedian, who had no thought
but what had reference to the stage; "the repentant sinner on his
death-bed--excellent! I will take a note of that, and introduce it into
my next play." "Then there is the rescuer; you forget him," observed the poet. "The
mysterious stranger, with cloak and slouched hat, appearing on the spot
in the very nick of time to succour Beauty in distress." "True, true," assented the tragedian; "I had nigh forgot. If this
episode wouldn't bring down the house I don't know what would." "I wonder who he was," observed Mr. Oldstone. "His sudden appearance was
most remarkable; his disappearance no less so." In the middle of this discussion, the door opened, and our host entered
with a letter, which he handed to the antiquary, who mechanically put
it in his pocket as of no immediate importance, without even looking at
the handwriting, while he joined in the merry banter of the other
members, who, as soon as our landlord made his appearance fixed upon him
at once as the butt of their satire. "Hullo, Jack!" cried one, "got over your little nap at last, eh?" "That last glass of your home-brewed ale, by way of a night cap was most
effectual," jeered another. Our host, however, did not view the matter by any means in the light of
a joke, and answered savagely, "Ah! the dastardly cowards! They _did_ me
at last. Can't make out how they found time to do it. Such a trick was
never played me before, and I'll take jolly good care they don't catch
me again." "Well, that's not likely under the circumstances, is it, Jack?" replied
Mr. Hardcase. "Just like these lawyer fellows," observed Professor Cyanite, "they are
always tripping one up." "Nor yet anyone else," persisted the landlord. Then added, "To think
that _my_ daughter who has been brought up from a kid under my very
eyes, and never seen no one save her parents and you gentlemen of the
club, who have always treated her with courtesy as though she were a
high born lady--she, what's never heard a word in her life as she didn't
oughter have heard--what never knowed nothink of the ways of this wicked
world--that _she_, poor child, should be subjected to outrage from two
ruffianly bullies--one o' them a peer of the realm, forsooth, and all on
account of her picter being exhibited at that d----d Royal Academy!" He
concluded with a thump of his fist on the breakfast table that set all
the cups and saucers rattling, and felt better afterwards. "Yes, it was a narrow shave. Wasn't it, Jack?" remarked Parnassus. "If
it hadn't been for that stranger----"

"Ah! I'ld like to find out who _he_ was. _That_ I would. Can any of you
gentlemen guess?" demanded our host. "Not I." "Nor I," replied several voices at once. "Why on earth don't he show hisself?" asked Jack. "Well, he's a trump,
whoever he is, say I." The company now broke up, and the members of the club began to set about
their several avocations. Dr. Bleedem went upstairs to visit his fair
patient, and Mr. Oldstone found himself once more alone. He paced the
room slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin upon
his breast, as if lost in a reverie. Then suddenly blurted out, with a
snort, "The d----d rascals! The double-dyed sons of Belial! To dare to
carry off _my_ Helen! That sweet child that I love as if she were my own
flesh and blood. And how nearly they succeeded!" Here his eyes filled
with tears, and thrusting his hand into his large pocket in search of
his handkerchief, his fingers clutched something crisp, and he
recollected the letter that Jack Hearty had put into his hand at
breakfast. "Some shoemaker's bill, I suppose," he muttered, as he mopped
his eyes with his handkerchief. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, glancing at the
handwriting. "What! am I dreaming? Isn't this the writing of my young
friend Vandyke McGuilp? But how? I am only just in possession of his
letter from Rome, and this letter bears no postmark, being brought here
by some casual messenger. Then he must be _here_! Don't understand it at
all." Here he broke the seal and read as follows:

  "_Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone_

  "MY DEAR FRIEND,

  "I am nearer to you than you imagine. I send these lines by a boy from
  a neighbouring village, where I slept last night, but which I leave
  this morning, without being able to call upon you, as I have important
  family business in the adjacent county of ---- which I cannot afford
  to neglect.