He was certainly not a coward, and, perhaps,
really as free from superstition as most persons, but he was human, and
consequently he had nerves, and he had likewise an imagination. He went to his house first before he started on his errand to the ruins. It was to get a horse-pistol which he had, and which he duly loaded and
placed in his pocket. Then he wrapped himself up in a great-coat, and
with the air of a man quite determined upon something desperate he left
the town. The guests at the inn looked after him as he walked from the door of
that friendly establishment, and some of them, as they saw his resolved
aspect, began to quake for the amount of the wagers they had laid upon
his non-success. However, it was resolved among them, that they would stay until
half-past twelve, in the expectation of his return, before they
separated. To while away the time, he who had been so facetious about his story of
the clock-weight, volunteered to tell what happened to a friend of his
who went to take possession of some family property which he became
possessed of as heir-at-law to an uncle who had died without a will,
having an illegitimate family unprovided for in every shape. "Ah! nobody cares for other people's illegitimate children, and, if
their parents don't provide for them, why, the workhouse is open for
them, just as if they were something different from other people." "So they are; if their parents don't take care of them, and provide for
them, nobody else will, as you say, neighbour, except when they have a
Fitz put to their name, which tells you they are royal bastards, and of
course unlike anybody else's." "But go on--let's know all about it; we sha'n't hear what he has got to
say at all, at this rate." "Well, as I was saying, or about to say, the nephew, as soon as he heard
his uncle was dead, comes and claps his seal upon everything in the
house." "But, could he do so?" inquired one of the guests. "I don't see what was to hinder him," replied a third. "He could do so,
certainly." "But there was a son, and, as I take it, a son's nearer than a nephew
any day." "But the son is illegitimate." "Legitimate, or illegitimate, a son's a son; don't bother me about
distinction of that sort; why, now, there was old Weatherbit--"

"Order, order." "Let's hear the tale." "Very good, gentlemen, I'll go on, if I ain't to be interrupted; but
I'll say this, that an illegitimate son is no son, in the eyes of the
law; or at most he's an accident quite, and ain't what he is, and so
can't inherit." "Well, that's what I call making matters plain," said one of the guests,
who took his pipe from his mouth to make room for the remark; "now that
is what I likes." "Well, as I have proved then," resumed the speaker, "the nephew was the
heir, and into the house he would come. A fine affair it was too--the
illegitimates looking the colour of sloes; but he knew the law, and
would have it put in force." "Law's law, you know." "Uncommonly true that; and the nephew stuck to it like a cobbler to his
last--he said they should go out, and they did go out; and, say what
they would about their natural claims, he would not listen to them, but
bundled them out and out in a pretty short space of time." "It was trying to them, mind you, to leave the house they had been born
in with very different expectations to those which now appeared to be
their fate. Poor things, they looked ruefully enough, and well they
might, for there was a wide world for them, and no prospect of a warm
corner. "Well, as I was saying, he had them all out and the house clear to
himself. "Now," said he, "I have an open field and no favour. I don't care for
no--Eh! what?" "There was a sudden knocking, he thought, the door, and went and opened
it, but nothing was to be seen. "Oh! I see--somebody next door; and if it wasn't, it don't matter. There's nobody here. I'm alone, and there's plenty of valuables in the
house. That is what I call very good company. I wouldn't wish for
better." He turned about, looked over room after room, and satisfied himself that
he was alone--that the house was empty. At every room he entered he paused to think over the value--what it was
worth, and that he was a very fortunate man in having dropped into such
a good thing. "Ah! there's the old boy's secretary, too--his bureau--there'll be
something in that that will amuse me mightily; but I don't think I shall
sit up late. He was a rum old man, to say the least of it--a very odd
sort of man." With that he gave himself a shrug, as if some very uncomfortable feeling
had come over him. "I'll go to bed early, and get some sleep, and then in daylight I can
look after these papers. They won't be less interesting in the morning
than they are now." There had been some rum stories about the old man, and now the nephew
seemed to think he might have let the family sleep on the premises for
that night; yes, at that moment he could have found it in his heart to
have paid for all the expense of their keep, had it been possible to
have had them back to remain the night. But that wasn't possible, for they would not have done it, but sooner
have remained in the streets all night than stay there all night, like
so many house-dogs, employed by one who stepped in between them and
their father's goods, which were their inheritance, but for one trifling
circumstance--a mere ceremony. The night came on, and he had lights. True it was he had not been down
stairs, only just to have a look. He could not tell what sort of a place
it was; there were a good many odd sort of passages, that seemed to end
nowhere, and others that did. There were large doors; but they were all locked, and he had the keys;
so he didn't mind, but secured all places that were not fastened. He then went up stairs again, and sat down in the room where the bureau
was placed. "I'll be bound," said one of the guests, "he was in a bit of a stew,
notwithstanding all his brag." "Oh! I don't believe," said another, "that anything done that is
dangerous, or supposed to be dangerous, by the bravest man, is any way
wholly without some uncomfortable feelings. They may not be strong
enough to prevent the thing proposed to be done from being done, but
they give a disagreeable sensation to the skin." "You have felt it, then?" "Ha! ha! ha!" "Why, at that time I slept in the churchyard for a wager, I must say I
felt cold all over, as if my skin was walking about me in an
uncomfortable manner." "But you won your wager?" "I did." "And of course you slept there?" "To be sure I did." "And met with nothing?" "Nothing, save a few bumps against the gravestones." "Those were hard knocks, I should say." "They were, I assure you; but I lay there, and slept there, and won my
wager." "Would you do it again?" "No." "And why not?" "Because of the rheumatism." "You caught that?" "I did; I would give ten times my wager to get rid of them. I have them
very badly." "Come, order, order--the tale; let's hear the end of that, since it has
begun."