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Title: Auriol
Author: William Harrison Ainsworth
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Auriol; or, The Elixir of Life
William Harrison Ainsworth


The Sixteenth Century drew to a close. It was the last day of the last
year, and two hours only were wanting to the birth of another year and
of another century.

The night was solemn and beautiful. Myriads of stars paved the deep
vault of heaven; the crescent moon hung like a silver lamp in the
midst of them; a stream of rosy and quivering light issuing from the
north traversed the sky, like the tail of some stupendous comet; while
from its point of effluence broke forth, ever and anon, coruscations
rivalling in splendour and variety of hue the most brilliant discharge
of fireworks.

A sharp frost prevailed; but the atmosphere was clear and dry, and
neither wind nor snow aggravated the wholesome rigour of the season.
The water lay in thick congealed masses around the conduits and wells,
and the buckets were frozen on their stands. The thoroughfares were
sheeted with ice, and dangerous to horsemen and vehicles; but the
footways were firm and pleasant to the tread.

Here and there, a fire was lighted in the streets, round which ragged
urchins and mendicants were collected, roasting fragments of meat
stuck upon iron prongs; or quaffing deep draughts of metheglin and
ale, out of leathern cups. Crowds were collected in the open places,
watching the wonders in the heavens, and drawing auguries from them,
chiefly sinister, for most of the beholders thought the signs
portended the speedy death of the queen, and the advent of a new
monarch from the north a safe and easy interpretation, considering the
advanced age and declining health of the illustrious Elizabeth,
together with the known appointment of her successor, James of

Notwithstanding the early habits of the times, few persons had retired
to rest, a universal wish prevailing among the citizens to see the new
year in, and welcome the century accompanying it. Lights glimmered in
most windows, revealing the holly-sprigs and laurel leaves stuck
thickly in their diamond panes; while, whenever a door was opened, a
ruddy gleam burst across the street; and a glance inside the dwelling
showed its inmates either gathered round the glowing hearth, occupied
in mirthful sports--fox-i'-th'-hole, blind-man's-buff, or shoe-the-
mare--or seated at the ample board groaning with Christmas cheer.

Music and singing were heard at every comer, and bands of comely
damsels, escorted by their sweethearts, went from house to house,
bearing huge brown bowls dressed with ribands and rosemary, and filled
with a drink called "lamb's-wool", composed of sturdy ale, sweetened
with sugar, spiced with nutmeg, and having toasts and burnt crabs
floating within it,--a draught from which seldom brought its pretty
bearers less than a groat, and occasionally a more valuable coin. Such
was the vigil of the year 1600.

On this night, and at the tenth hour, a man of striking and venerable
appearance was seen to emerge upon a small wooden balcony, projecting
from a bay-window near the top of a picturesque structure situated at
the southern extremity of London-bridge.

The old man's beard and hair were as white as snow--the former
descending almost to his girdle; so were the thick over--hanging brows
that shaded his still piercing eyes. His forehead, was high, bald, and
ploughed by innumerable wrinkles. His countenance, despite its death-
like paleness, had a noble and majestic cast, and his figure, though
worn to the bone by a life of the severest study, and bent by the
weight of years, must have been once lofty and commanding. His dress
consisted of a doublet and hose of sad-coloured cloth, over which he
wore a loose gown of black silk. His head was covered by a square
black cap, from beneath which his silver locks strayed over his

Known by the name of Doctor Lamb, and addicted to alchemical and
philosophical pursuits, this venerable personage was esteemed by the
vulgar as little better than a wizard. Strange tales were reported and
believed of him. Amongst others, it was said that he possessed a
familiar, because he chanced to employ a deformed, crack-brained
dwarf, who assisted him in his operations, and whom he appropriately
enough denominated Flapdragon.

Doctor Lamb's gaze was fixed intently upon the heavens, and he seemed
to be noting the position of the moon with reference to some
particular star.

After remaining in this posture for a few minutes, he was about to
retire, when a loud crash arrested him, and he turned to see whence it

Immediately before him stood the Southwark Gateway--a square stone
building, with a round, embattled turret at each corner, and a flat,
leaden roof, planted with a forest of poles, fifteen or sixteen feet
high, garnished with human heads. To his surprise, the doctor
perceived that two of these poles had just been overthrown by a tall
man, who was in the act of stripping them of their grisly burdens.

Having accomplished his object, the mysterious plunderer thrust his
spoil into a leathern bag with which he was provided, tied its mouth,
and was about to take his departure by means of a rope-ladder attached
to the battlements, when his retreat was suddenly cut off by the
gatekeeper, armed with a halberd, and bearing a lantern, who issued
from a door opening upon the leads.

The baffled marauder looked round, and remarking the open window at
which Doctor Lamb was stationed, hurled the sack and its contents
through it. He then tried to gain the ladder, but was intercepted by
the gatekeeper, who dealt him a severe blow on the head with his
halberd. The plunderer uttered a loud cry, and attempted to draw his
sword; but before he could do so, he received a thrust in the side
from his opponent. He then fell, and the gatekeeper would have
repeated the blow, if the doctor had not called to him to desist.

"Do not kill him, good Baldred," he cried. "The attempt may not be so
criminal as it appears. Doubtless, the mutilated remains which the
poor wretch has attempted to carry off, are those of his kindred, and
horror at their exposure must have led him to commit the offence."

"It may be, doctor," replied Baldred; "and if so I shall be sorry I
have hurt him. But I am responsible for the safe custody of these
traitorous relics, and it is as much as my own head is worth to permit
their removal."

"I know it," replied Doctor Lamb; "and you are fully justified in what
you have done. It may throw some light upon the matter, to know whose
miserable remains have been disturbed."

"They were the heads of two rank, papists," replied Baldred, "who were
decapitated on Tower Hill, on Saint Nicholas's day, three weeks ago,
for conspiring against the queen."

"But their names?" demanded the doctor. "How were they called?"

"They were father and son," replied Baldred;--"Sir Simon Darcy and
Master Reginald Darcy. Perchance they were known to your worship?"

"Too well--too well!" replied Doctor Lamb, in a voice of emotion, that
startled his hearer. "They were near kinsmen mine own. What is he like
who has made this strange attempt?"

"Of a verity, a fair youth," replied Baldred, holding down the
lantern. "Heaven grant I have not wounded him to the death! No, his
heart still beats. Ha! here are his tablets," he added, taking a small
book from his doublet; "these may give the information you seek. You
were right in your conjecture, doctor. The name herein inscribed is
the same as that borne by the others--Auriol Darcy."

"I see it all," cried Lamb. "It was a pious and praiseworthy deed.
Bring the unfortunate youth to my dwelling, Baldred, and you shall be
well rewarded. Use despatch, I pray you."

As the gatekeeper essayed to comply, the wounded man groaned deeply,
as if in great pain.

"Ring me the weapon with which you smote him," cried Doctor Lamb, in
accents of commiseration, "and I will anoint it with the powder of
sympathy. His anguish will be speedily abated."

"I know your worship can accomplish wonders," cried Baldred, throwing
the halberd into the balcony. "I will do my part as gently as I can."

And as the alchemist took up the weapon, and disappeared through the
window, the gatekeeper lifted the wounded man by the shoulders, and
conveyed him down a narrow winding staircase to a lower chamber.
Though he proceeded carefully, the sufferer was put to excruciating
pain; and when Baldred placed him on a wooden bench, and held a lamp
towards him, he perceived that his features were darkened and

"I fear it's all over with him," murmured the gatekeeper; "I shall
have a dead body to take to Doctor Lamb. It would be a charity to
knock him on the head, rather than let him suffer thus. The doctor
passes for a cunning man, but if he can cure this poor youth without
seeing him, by the help of his sympathetic ointment, I shall begin to
believe, what some folks avouch, that he has relations with the

While Baldred was ruminating in this manner, a sudden and
extraordinary change took place in the sufferer. As if by magic, the
contraction of the muscles subsided; the features assumed a wholesome
hue, and the respiration was no longer laborious. Baldred stared as if
a miracle had been wrought.

Now that the countenance of the youth had regained its original
expression, the gatekeeper could not help being struck by its extreme
beauty. The face was a perfect oval, with regular and delicate
features. A short silken moustache covered the upper lip, which was
short and proud, and a pointed beard terminated the chin. The hair was
black, glossy, and cut short, so as to disclose a highly intellectual
expanse of brow.

The youth's figure was slight, but admirably proportioned His attire
consisted of a black satin doublet, slashed with white, hose of black
silk, and a short velvet mantle. His eyes were still closed, and it
was difficult to say what effect they might give to the face when they
lighted it up; but notwithstanding its beauty, it was impossible not
to admit that a strange, sinister, and almost demoniacal expression
pervaded the countenance.

All at once, and with as much suddenness as his cure had been
effected, the young man started, uttering a piercing cry, and placed
his hand to his side.

"Caitiff!" he cried, fixing his blazing eyes on the gatekeeper, "why
do you torture me thus? Finish me at once--Oh!"

And overcome by anguish, he sank back again.

"I have not touched you, sir," replied Baldred. "I brought you here to
succour you. You will be easier anon. Doctor Lamb must have wiped the
halberd," he added to himself.

Another sudden change. The pain fled from the sufferer's countenance,
and he became easy as before.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, with a look of gratitude; "the
torture of my wound has suddenly ceased, and I feel as if a balm had
been dropped into it, Let me remain in this state if you have any
pity--or despatch me, for my late agony was almost insupportable."

"You are cared for by one who has greater skill than any surgeon in
London," replied Baldred. "If I can manage to transport you to his
lodgings, he will speedily heal your wounds."

"Do not delay, then," replied Auriol, faintly; "for though I am free
from pain, I feel that my life is ebbing fast away.

"Press this handkerchief to your side, and lean on me." said Baldred.
"Doctor Lamb's dwelling is but a step from the gateway--in fact, the
first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor declares he is your

"It is the first I ever heard of him," replied Auriol, faintly; "but
take me to him quickly, or it will be too late."

In another moment they were at the doctor's door. Baldred tapped
against it, and the summons was instantly answered by a diminutive
personage, clad in a jerkin of coarse grey serge, and having a
leathern apron tied round his waist. This was Flapdragon.

Blear-eyed, smoke-begrimed, lantern-jawed, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it
had been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In
his hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.

"So you have been playing the leech., Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.

"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and
displaying a wolfish set of teeth, "My master ordered me to smear the
halberd with the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him; rubbed the steel
point, first on one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then
smeared it again."

"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory'."

"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."

"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"

Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two,
Auriol was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the
laboratory. Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on
which a large alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task,
that he scarcely noticed the entrance of the others.

"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair,"
he cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction
in that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."

"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag,
which was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head extruded--"I
ought to take them back with me."

"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb,
impatiently; "tomorrow--tomorrow."

Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the
sufferer's temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's
injunctions, turned to inquire what he should do next.

"Be gone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of
the room, clapping the door after him.

Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and
in a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a

Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and
fantastical did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements
used by the adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts,
scattered about without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was
a large terrestrial sphere; near it was an astrolabe; and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels. On the other side, lay a black,
mysterious-looking book, fastened with brazen clasps. Around it, were
a ram's horn, a pair of forceps, a roll of parchment, a pestle and
mortar, and a large plate of copper, graven with the mysterious
symbols of the Isaical table. Near this was the leathern bag
containing the two decapitated heads, one of which had burst forth. On
a table, at the further end of the room, stood a large open volume,
with parchment leaves, covered with cabbalistical characters,
referring to the names of spirits. Near it were two parchment scrolls,
written in letters, respectively denominated by the Chaldaic sages,
"the Malachim", and "the Passing of the River". One of these scrolls
was kept in its place by a skull. An ancient and grotesque-looking
brass lamp, with two snake-headed burners, lighted the room. From the
ceiling depended a huge scaly sea-monster, with outspread fins, open
jaws, garnished with tremendous teeth, and great goggling eyes, Near
it hung a celestial sphere. The chimney-piece, which was curiously
carved, and projected far into the room, was laden with various
implements of Hermetic science. Above it were hung dried bats and
flitter-mice, interspersed with the skulls of birds and apes. Attached
to the chimney-piece was a horary, sculptured in stone, near which
hung a large star-fish. The fireplace was occupied by the furnace, in
which, as has been stated, was placed an alembic, communicating by
means of a long serpentine pipe with a receiver. Within the room were
two skeletons, one of which, placed behind a curtain in the deep
embrasure of the window, where its polished bones glistened in the
white moonlight, had a horrible effect. The other enjoyed more
comfortable quarters near the chimney, its fleshless feet dangling
down in the smoke arising from the furnace.

Doctor Lamb, meanwhile, steadily pursued his task, though he ever and
anon paused, to fling certain roots and drugs upon the charcoal. As he
did this, various-coloured flames broke forth--now blue, now green,
now blood-red.

Tinged by these fires, the different objects in the chamber seemed to
take other forms, and to become instinct with animation. The gourd-
shaped cucurbites were transformed into great bloated toads bursting
with venom; the long-necked bolt-heads became monstrous serpents; the
worm-like pipes turned into adders; the alembics looked like plumed
helmets; the characters on the Isaical table, and those on the
parchments, seemed traced in fire, and to be ever changing; the sea-
monster bellowed and roared, and, flapping his fins, tried to burst
from his hook; the skeletons wagged their jaws, and raised their
fleshless fingers in mockery, while blue lights burnt in their eyeless
sockets; the bellows became a prodigious bat fanning the fire with its
wings: and the old Alchemist assumed the appearance of the arch-fiend
presiding over a witches' sabbath.

Auriol's brain reeled, and he pressed his hand to his eyes, to exclude
these phantasms from his sight. But even thus they pursued him; and he
imagined he could hear the infernal riot going on around him.

Suddenly, he was roused by a loud joyful cry, and, uncovering his
eyes, he beheld Doctor Lamb pouring the contents of the matrass--a
bright, transparent liquid--into a small phial. Having carefully
secured the bottle with a glass stopper, the old man held it towards
the light, and gazed at it with rapture. "At length," he exclaimed
aloud--"at length, the great work is achieved. With the birth of the
century now expiring I first saw light, and the draught I hold in my
hand shall enable me to see the opening of centuries and centuries to
come. Composed of the lunar stones, the solar stones, and the
mercurial stones--prepared according to the instructions of the Rabbi
Ben Lucca, namely, by the separation of the pure from the impure, the
volatilisation of the fixed, and the fixing of the volatile; this
elixir shall renew my youth, like that of the eagle, and give me
length of days greater than any patriarch ever enjoyed."

While thus speaking, he held up the sparkling liquid, and gazed at it
like a Persian worshipping the sun.

"To live for ever!" he cried, after a pause--"to escape the jaws of
death just when they are opening to devour me!--to be free from all
accidents!--'tis a glorious thought! Ha! I bethink me, the rabbi said
there was one peril against which the elixir could not guard me--one
vulnerable point; by which, like the heel of Achilles, death might
reach me! What is it?--where can it lie?"

And he relapsed into deep thought.

"This uncertainty will poison all my happiness," he continued; "I
shall live in constant dread, as of an invisible enemy. But no matter!
Perpetual life!--perpetual youth!--what more need be desired?"

"What more, indeed!" cried Auriol.

"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, suddenly recollecting the wounded man, and
concealing the phial beneath his gown.

"Your caution is vain, doctor," said Auriol. "I have heard what you
have uttered. You fancy you have discovered the elixir vitae."

"Fancy, I have discovered it!" cried Doctor Lamb. "The matter is past
all doubt. I am the possessor of the wondrous secret, which the
greatest philosophers of all ages have sought to discover--the
miraculous preservative of the body against decay."

"The man who brought me hither told me you were my kinsman," said
Auriol. "Is it so?"

"It is," replied the doctor, "and you shall now learn the connect ion
that subsists between us. Look at that ghastly relic," he added,
pointing to the head protruding from the bag, "that was once my son
Simon. His son's head is within the sack--your father's head--so that
four generations are brought together.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the young man, raising himself on his
elbow. "You, then, are my great-grandsire. My father supposed you had
died in his infancy. An old tale runs in the family that you were
charged with sorcery, and fled to avoid the stake."

"It is true that I fled, and took the name I bear at present," replied
the old man, "but I need scarcely say that the charge brought against
me was false. I have devoted myself to abstrusest science; have held
commune with the stars; and have wrested the most hidden secrets from
Nature--but that is all. Two crimes alone have stained my soul, but
both, I trust, have been expiated by repentance."

"Were they deeds of blood?" asked Auriol.

"One was so," replied Darcy, with a shudder. "It was a cowardly and
treacherous deed, aggravated by the basest ingratitude. Listen, and
you shall hear how it chanced. A Roman rabbi, named Ben Lucca, skilled
in Hermetic science, came to this city. His fame reached me, and I
sought him out, offering myself as his disciple. For months, I
remained with him in his laboratory working at the furnace, and poring
over mystic lore. One night, he showed me that volume, and, pointing
to a page within it, said: 'Those characters contain the secret of
confecting the elixir of life. I now explain them to you; and
afterwards we will proceed to the operation.' With this, he unfolded
the mystery; but he bade me observe, that the menstruum was defective
on one point. Wherefore, he said, 'there will still be peril from some
hidden cause.' Oh, with what greediness I drank in his words! How I
gazed at the mystic characters, as he explained their import! What
visions floated before me of perpetual youth and enjoyment. At that
moment a demon whispered in my ear,--"This secret must be thine own.
No one else must possess it."

"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, starting.

"The evil thought was no sooner conceived than acted upon," pursued
Darcy. "Instantly drawing my poniard, I plunged it to the rabbi's
heart. But mark what followed. His blood fell upon the book, and
obliterated the characters; nor could I by any effort of memory recall
the composition of the elixir."

"When did you regain the secret?" asked Auriol, curiously.

"Tonight," replied Darcy--"within this hour. For nigh fifty years
after that fatal night I have been making fruitless experiments. A
film of blood has obscured my mental sight. I have proceeded by
calcitration, solution, putrefaction--have produced the oils which
will fix crude mercury, and convert all bodies into sol and luna; but
I have ever failed in fermenting the stone into the true elixir.
Tonight, it came into my head to wash the blood-stained page
containing the secret with a subtle liquid. I did so; and doubting the
efficacy of the experiment, left it to work, while I went forth to
breath the air at my window. My eyes were cast upwards, and I was
struck with the malignant aspect of my star. How to reconcile this
with the good fortune which has just befallen me, I know not--but so
it was. At this juncture, your rash, but pious attempt occurred.
Having discovered our relationship, and enjoined the gatekeeper to
bring you hither, I returned to my old laboratory. On glancing towards
the mystic volume, what was my surprise to see the page free from

Auriol uttered a slight exclamation, and gazed at the book with
superstitious awe.

"The sight was so surprising, that I dropped the sack I had brought
with me," pursued Darcy. "Fearful of again losing the secret, I nerved
myself to the task, and placing fuel on the fire, dismissed my
attendant with brief injunctions relative to you. I then set to work.
How I have succeeded, you perceive. I hold in my hand the treasure I
have so long sought--so eagerly coveted. The whole world's wealth
should not purchase it from me."

Auriol gazed earnestly at his aged relative, but he said nothing.

"In a few moments I shall be as full of vigour and activity as
yourself," continued Darcy. "We shall be no longer the great-grandsire
and his descendant, but friends--companions--equals,--equals in age,
strength, activity, beauty, fortune--for youth is fortune ha! ha!
Methinks I am already young again!"

"You spoke of two crimes with which your conscience was burdened,"
remarked Auriol. "You have mentioned but one."

"The other was not so foul as that I have described," replied Darcy,
in an altered tone, "in as much as it was unintentional, and
occasioned by no base motive. My wife, your ancestress, was a most
lovely woman, and so passionately was I enamoured of her, that I tried
by every art to heighten and preserve her beauty. I fed her upon the
flesh of capons, nourished with vipers; caused her to steep her lovely
limbs in baths distilled from roses and violets; and had recourse to
the most potent cosmetics. At last I prepared a draught from poisons--
yes, poisons--the effect of which I imagined would be wondrous. She
drank it, and expired horribly disfigured. Conceive my despair at
beholding the fair image of my idolatry destroyed--defaced by my hand.
In my frenzy I should have laid violent hands upon myself, if I had
not been restrained. Love may again rule my heart--beauty may again
dazzle my eyes, but I shall never more feel the passion I entertained
for my lost Amice--never more behold charms equal to hers."

And he pressed his hand to his face.

"The mistake you then committed should serve as a warning," replied
Auriol. "What if it be poison you have now confected? Try a few drops
of it on some animal."

"No--no; it is the true elixir," replied Darcy. "Not a drop must be
wasted. You will witness its effect anon. Like the snake, I shall cast
my slough, and come forth younger than I was at twenty."

"Meantime, I beseech you to render me some assistance," groaned
Auriol, "or, while you are preparing for immortality, I shall expire
before your eyes."

"Be not afraid," replied Darcy; "you shall take no harm. I will care
for you presently; and I understand leechcraft so well, that I will
answer for your speedy and perfect recovery."

"Drink, then, to it!" cried Auriol.

"I know not what stays my hand," said the old man, raising the phial;
"but now that immortality is in my reach, I dare not grasp it."

"Give me the potion, then," cried Auriol.

"Not for worlds," rejoined Darcy, hugging the phial to his breast.
"No; I will be young again--rich--happy. I will go forth into the
world--I will bask in the smiles of beauty--I will feast, revel,
sing--life shall be one perpetual round of enjoyment. Now for the
trial--ha!" and, as he raised the potion towards his lips, a sudden
pang shot across his heart. "What is this?" he cried, staggering. "Can
death assail me when I am just about to enter upon perpetual life?
Help me, good grandson! Place the phial to my lips. Pour its contents
down my throat--quick! quick!"

"I am too weak to stir," groaned Auriol. "You have delayed it too

"Oh, Heavens! we shall both perish," shrieked Darcy, vainly
endeavouring to raise his palsied arm,--"perish with the blissful
shore in view."

And he sank backwards, and would have fallen to the ground if he had
not caught at the terrestrial sphere for support.

"Help me--help me!" he screamed, fixing a glance of unutterable
anguish on his relative.

"It is worth the struggle," cried Auriol. And, by a great effort, he
raised himself, and staggered towards the old man.

"Saved--saved!" shrieked Darcy. "Pour it down my throat. An instant,
and all will be well."

"Think you I have done this for you?" cried Auriol, snatching the
potion; "no--no."

And, supporting himself against the furnace, he placed the phial to
his lips, and eagerly drained its contents.

The old man seemed paralysed by the action, but kept his eye fixed
upon the youth till he had drained the elixir to the last drop. He
then uttered a piercing cry, threw up his arm, and fell heavily


Flashes of light passed before Auriol's eyes, and strange noises smote
his ears. For a moment he was bewildered as with wine, and laughed and
sang discordantly like a madman. Every object reeled and danced around
him. The glass vessels and jars clashed their brittle sides together,
yet remained uninjured; the furnace breathed forth flames and mephitic
vapours; the spiral worm of the alembic became red hot, and seemed
filled with molten lead; the pipe of the bolt-head ran blood; the
sphere of the earth rolled along the floor, and rebounded from the
wail as if impelled by a giant hand; the skeletons grinned and
gibbered; so did the death's-head on the table; so did the skulls
against the chimney; the monstrous sea-fish belched forth fire and
smoke; the bald decapitated head opened its eyes, and fixed them, with
a stony glare, on the young man; while the dead alchemist shook his
hand menacingly at him.

Unable to bear these accumulated horrors, Auriol became, for a short
space, insensible. On recovering, all was still. The lights within the
lamp had expired; but the bright moonlight, streaming through the
window, fell upon the rigid features of the unfortunate alchemist, and
on the cabalistic characters of the open volume beside him. Eager to
test the effect of the elixir, Auriol put his hand to his side. All
traces of the wound were gone; nor did he experience the slightest
pain in any other part of his body. On the contrary, he seemed endowed
with preternatural strength. His breast dilated with rapture, and he
longed to expand his joy in active notion. Striding over the body of
his aged relative, he threw open the window. As he did so joyous peals
burst from surrounding churches, announcing the arrival of the new
year. While listening to this clamour, Auriol gazed at the populous
and picturesque city stretched out before him, and bathed in the

"A hundred years hence," he thought, "and scarcely one soul of the
thousands within those houses will be living, save myself. A hundred
years after that, and their children's children will be gone to the
grave. But I shall live on--shall live through all changes--all
customs--all time. What revelations I shall then have to make, if I
should dare to disclose them!"

As he ruminated thus, the skeleton hanging near him was swayed by the
wind, and its bony fingers came in contact with his cheek. A dread
idea was suggested by the occurrence.

"There is one peril to be avoided," he thought; "ONE PERIL!--what is
it? Pshaw! I will think no more of it. It may never arise. I will be
gone. This place fevers me."

With this, he left the laboratory, and hastily descending the stairs,
at the foot of which he found Flapdragon, passed out of the house.



One night, in the spring of 1830, two men issued from a low, obscurely
situated public-house, near Millbank, and shaped their course
apparently in the direction of Vauxhall-bridge. Avoiding the footpath
near the river, they moved stealthily along the further side of the
road, where the open ground offered them an easy means of flight, in
case such a course should he found expedient. So far as it could be
discerned by the glimpses of the moon, which occasionally shone forth
from a rack of heavy clouds, the appearance of these personages was
not much in their favour. Haggard features, stamped deeply with the
characters of crime and debauchery; fierce, restless eyes; beards of
several days' growth; wild, unkempt heads of hair, formed their chief
personal characteristics; while sordid and ragged clothes; shoes
without soles; and old hats without crowns, constituted the sum of
their apparel.

One of them was tall and gaunt, with large hands and feet; but despite
his meagreness, he evidently possessed great strength: the other was
considerably shorter, but broad-shouldered, bow-legged, long-armed,
and altogether a most formidable ruffian. This fellow had high
cheekbones, a long aquiline nose, and a coarse mouth and chin, in
which the animal greatly predominated. He had a stubby red beard, with
sandy hair, white brows and eyelashes. The countenance of the other
was dark and repulsive, and covered with blotches, the result of
habitual intemperance. His eyes had a leering and malignant look. A
handkerchief spotted with blood, and tied across his brow, contrasted
strongly with his matted black hair, and increased his natural
appearance of ferocity. The shorter ruffian carried a mallet upon his
shoulder, and his companion concealed something beneath the breast of
his coat, which afterwards proved to be a dark lantern.

Not a word passed between them; but keeping a vigilant look-out, they
trudged on with quick, shambling steps. A few sounds arose from the
banks of the river, and there was now and then a plash in the water,
or a distant cry, betokening some passing craft; but generally all was
profoundly still. The quaint, Dutch-looking structures on the opposite
bank, the line of coal-barges and lighters moored to the strand, the
great timber-yards and coal-yards, the brewhouses, gasworks, and
waterworks, could only be imperfectly discerned; but the moonlight
fell clear upon the ancient towers of Lambeth Palace, and on the
neighbouring church. The same glimmer also ran like a silver belt
across the stream, and revealed the great, stern, fortress-like pile
of the Penitentiary--perhaps the most dismal-looking structure in the
whole metropolis. The world of habitations beyond this melancholy
prison were buried in darkness. The two men, however, thought nothing
of these things, and saw nothing of them; but, on arriving within a
couple of hundred yards of the bridge, suddenly, as if by previous
concert, quitted the road, and, leaping a rail, ran across a field,
and plunged into a hollow formed by a dried pit, where they came to a
momentary halt.

"You ain't a-been a-gammonin' me in this matter, Tinker?" observed the
shorter individual. "The cove's sure to come?"

"Why, you can't expect me to answer for another as I can for myself,
Sandman," replied the other; "but if his own word's to be taken for
it, he's sartin to be there. I heerd him say, as plainly as I'm a-
speakin' to you,--'I'll be here tomorrow night at the same hour--'"

"And that wos one o'clock?" said the Sandman.

"Thereabouts," replied the other.

"And who did he say that to?" demanded the Sandman.

"To hisself, I s'pose," answered the Tinker; "for, as I told you
afore, I could see no one vith him."

"Do you think he's one of our perfession?" inquired the Sandman.

"Bless you! no--that he hain't," returned the Tinker. "He's a reg'lar
slap-up swell."

"That's no reason at all," said the Sandman. "Many a first-rate svell
practises in our line. But he can't be in his right mind to come to
such a ken as that, and go on as you mentions."

"As to that I can't say," replied the Tinker; "and it don't much
matter, as far as ve're consarned."

"Devil a bit," rejoined the Sandman, "except--you're sure it worn't a
sperrit, Tinker. I've heerd say that this crib is haanted, and though
I don't fear no livin' man, a ghost's a different sort of customer."

"Vell, you'll find our svell raal flesh and blood, you may depend upon
it," replied the Tinker. "So come along, and don't let's be
frightenin' ourselves vith ould vimen's tales."

With this they emerged from the pit, crossed the lower part of the
field, and entered a narrow thoroughfare, skirted by a few detached
houses, which brought them into the Vauxhall-bridge road.

Here they kept on the side of the street most in shadow, and crossed
over whenever they came to a lamp. By-and-by, two watchmen were seen
advancing from Belvoir-terrace, and, as the guardians of the night
drew near, the ruffians crept into an alley to let them pass. As soon
as the coast was clear, they ventured forth, and quickening their
pace, came to a row of deserted and dilapidated houses. This was their

The range of habitations in question, more than a dozen in number,
were, in all probability, what is vulgarly called "in Chancery", and
shared the fate of most property similarly circumstanced. They were in
a sad ruinous state--unroofed, without windows and floors. The bare
walls were alone left standing, and these were in a very tumbledown
condition. These neglected dwellings served as receptacles for old
iron, blocks of stone and wood, and other ponderous matters. The
aspect of the whole place was so dismal and suspicious, that it was
generally avoided by passengers after nightfall.

Skulking along the blank and dreary walls, the Tinker, who was now a
little in advance, stopped before a door, and pushing it open, entered
the dwelling. His companion followed him.

The extraordinary and incongruous assemblage of objects which met the
gaze of the Sandman, coupled with the deserted appearance of the
place, produced an effect upon his hardy but superstitious nature.

Looking round, he beheld huge mill-stones, enormous water-wheels,
boilers of steam-engines, iron vats, cylinders, cranes, iron pumps of
the strangest fashion, a gigantic pair of wooden scales, old iron
safes, old boilers, old gas-pipes, old water-pipes, cracked old bells,
old birdcages, old plates of iron, old pulleys, ropes, and rusty
chains, huddled and heaped together in the most fantastic disorder. In
the midst of the chaotic mass frowned the bearded and colossal head of
Neptune, which had once decorated the forepart of a man-of-war. Above
it, on a sort of framework, lay the prostrate statue of a nymph,
together with a bust of Fox, the nose of the latter being partly
demolished, and the eyes knocked in. Above these, three garden
divinities laid their heads amicably together. On the left stood a
tall Grecian warrior, minus the head and right hand. The whole was
surmounted by an immense ventilator, stuck on the end of an iron rod,
ascending, like a lightning-conductor, from the steam-engine pump.

Seen by the transient light of the moon, the various objects above
enumerated produced a strange effect upon the beholder's imagination.
There was a mixture of the grotesque and terrible about them. Nor was
the building itself devoid of a certain influence upon his mind. The
ragged brickwork, over-grown with weeds, took with him the semblance
of a human face, and seemed to keep a wary eye on what was going
forward below.

A means of crossing from one side of the building to the other,
without descending into the vault beneath, was afforded by a couple of
planks; though as the wall on the farther side was some feet higher
than that near at hand, and the planks were considerably bent, the
passage appeared hazardous.

Glancing round for a moment, the Tinker leaped into the cellar, and,
unmasking his lantern, showed a sort of hiding-place, between a bulk
of timber and a boiler, to which he invited his companion.

The Sandman jumped down.

"The ale I drank at the 'Two Fighting Cocks' has made me feel drowsy,
Tinker," he remarked, stretching himself on the bulk; "I'll just take
a snooze. Vake me up if I snore--or ven our sperrit appears."

The Tinker replied in the affirmative; and the other had just become
lost to consciousness, when he received a nudge in the side, and his
companion whispered--"He's here!"

"Vhere--vhere?" demanded the Sandman, in some trepidation.

"Look up, and you'll see him," replied the other.

Slightly altering his position, the Sandman caught sight of a figure
standing upon the planks above them. It was that of a young man. His
hat was off, and his features, exposed to the full radiance of the
moon, looked deathly pale, and though handsome, had a strange sinister
expression. He was tall, slight, and well-proportioned; and the
general cut of his attire, the tightly buttoned, single-breasted coat,
together with the moustache upon his lip, gave him a military air.

"He seems a-valkin' in his sleep," muttered the Sandman. "He's a-
speakin' to some von unwisible."

"Hush hush!" whispered the other. "Let's hear wot he's a-sayin'."

"Why have you brought me here?" cried the young man, in a voice so
hollow that it thrilled his auditors. "What is to be done?"

"It makes my blood run cold to hear him," whispered the Sandman. "Vot
d'ye think he sees?"

"Why do you not speak to me?" cried the young man--"why do you beckon
me forward? Well, I obey. I will follow you." And he moved slowly
across the plank.

"See, he's a-goin' through that door," cried the Tinker. "Let's foller

"I don't half like it," replied the Sandman, his teeth chattering with
apprehension. "We shall see summat as'll take avay our senses."

"Tut!" cried the Tinker; "it's only a sleepy-valker. Wot are you
afeerd on?"

With this he vaulted upon the planks, and peeping cautiously out of
the open door to which they led, saw the object of his scrutiny enter
the adjoining house through a broken window.

Making a sign to the Sandman, who was close at his heels, the Tinker
crept forward on all fours, and, on reaching the window, raised
himself just sufficiently to command the interior of the dwelling.
Unfortunately for him, the moon was at this moment obscured, and he
could distinguish nothing except the dusky outline of the various
objects with which the place was filled, and which were nearly of the
same kind as those of the neighbouring habitation. He listened
intently, but not the slightest sound reached his ears.

After some time spent in this way, he began to fear the young man must
have departed, when all at once a piercing scream resounded through
the dwelling. Some heavy matter was dislodged, with a thundering
crash, and footsteps were heard approaching the window.

Hastily retreating to their former hiding-place, the Tinker and his
companion had scarcely regained it, when the young man again appeared
on the plank. His demeanour had undergone a fearful change. He
staggered rather than walked, and his countenance was even paler than
before. Having crossed the plank, he took his way along the top of the
broken wall towards the door.

"Now, then, Sandman!" cried the Tinker; "now's your time!"

The other nodded, and, grasping his mallet with a deadly and
determined purpose, sprang noiselessly upon the wall, and overtook his
intended victim just before he gained the door.

Hearing a sound behind him, the young man turned, and only just became
conscious of the presence of the Sandman, when the mallet descended
upon his head, and he fell crushed and senseless to the ground.

"The work's done!" cried the Sandman to his companion, who instantly
came up with the dark lantern; "let's take him below, and strip him."

"Agreed," replied the Tinker; "but first let's see wot he has got in
his pockets."

"Vith all my 'art," replied the Sandman, searching the clothes of the
victim. "A reader!--I hope it's well lined. We'll examine it below.
The body 'ud tell awkvard tales if any von should chance to peep in."

"Shall we strip him here?" said the Tinker. "Now the darkey shines on
'em, you see what famous togs the cull has on."

"Do you vant to have us scragged, fool?" cried the Sandman, springing
into the vault "Hoist him down here."

With this, he placed the wounded man's legs over his own shoulders,
and, aided by his comrade, was in the act of heaving down the body,
when the street-door suddenly flew open, and a stout individual,
attended by a couple of watchmen, appeared at it.

"There the villains are!" shouted the newcomer. They have been
murderin' a gentleman. Seize 'em--seize 'em!"

And, as he spoke, he discharged a pistol, the ball from which whistled
past the ears of the Tinker.

Without waiting for another salute of the same kind, which might
possibly be nearer its mark, the ruffian kicked the lantern into the
vault, and sprang after the Sandman, who had already disappeared.

Acquainted with the intricacies of the place, the Tinker guided his
companion through a hole into an adjoining vault, whence they scaled a
wail, got into the next house, and passing through an open window,
made good their retreat, while the watchmen were vainly searching for
them under every bulk and piece of iron.

"Here, watchmen!" cried the stout individual, who had acted as leader;
"never mind the villains just now, but help me to convey this poor
young gentleman to my house, where proper assistance can be rendered
him. He still breathes; but he has received a terrible blow on the
head. I hope his skull ain't broken."

"It is to be hoped it ain't, Mr. Thorneycroft," replied the foremost
watchman; "but them was two desperate characters, as ever I see, and
capable of any ahtterosity."

"What a frightful scream I heard to be sure!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft.
"I was certain sornethin' dreadful was goin' on. It was fortunate I
wasn't gone to bed; and still more fortunate you happened to be comin'
up at the time. But we mustn't stand chatterin' here. Bring the poor
young gentleman along."

Preceded by Mr. Thorneycroft, the watchmen carried the wounded man
across the road towards a small house, the door of which was held open
by a female servant, with a candle in her band. The poor woman uttered
a cry of horror as the body was brought in.

"Don't be cryin' out in that way, Peggy," cried Mr. Thorneycroft, "but
go and get me some brandy. Here, watchmen, lay the poor young
gentleman down on the sofa--there, gently, gently. And now, one of you
run to Wheeler-street, and fetch Mr. Howell, the surgeon. Less noise,
Peggy--less noise, or you'll waken Miss Ebba, and I wouldn't have her
disturbed for the world."

With this, he snatched the bottle of brandy from the maid filled a
wine-glass with the spirit, and poured it down the throat of the
wounded man. A stifling sound followed, and after struggling violently
for respiration for a few seconds, the patient opened his eyes.


The Rookery! Who that has passed Saint Giles's, on the way to the
city, or corning from it, but has caught a glimpse, through some
narrow opening, of its squalid habitations, and wretched and ruffianly
occupants! Who but must have been struck with amazement, that such a
huge receptacle of vice and crime should be allowed to exist in the
very heart of the metropolis, like an ulcerated spot, capable of
tainting the whole system! Of late, the progress of improvement has
caused its removal; but whether any less cogent motive would have
abated the nuisance, may be questioned. For years the evil was felt,
and complained of, but no effort was made to remedy it, or to cleanse
these worse than Augean stables. As the place is now partially, if not
altogether, swept away, and a wide and airy street passes through the
midst of its foul recesses, a slight sketch may be given of its former

Entering a narrow street, guarded by posts and crossbars, a few steps
from the crowded thoroughfare brought you into a frightful region, the
refuge, it was easy to perceive, of half the lawless characters
infesting the metropolis. The coarsest ribaldry assailed your ears,
and noisome odours afflicted your sense of smell. As you advanced,
picking your way through kennels flowing with filth, or over
putrescent heaps of rubbish and oyster-shells, all the repulsive and
hideous features of the place were displayed before you. There was
something savagely picturesque in the aspect of the place, but its
features were too loathsome to be regarded with any other feeling than
disgust. The houses looked as sordid, and as thickly crusted with the
leprosy of vice, as their tenants. Horrible habitations they were, in
truth. Many of them were without windows, and where the frames were
left, brown paper or tin supplied the place of glass; some even wanted
doors, and no effort was made to conceal the squalor within. On the
contrary, it seemed to be intruded on observation. Miserable rooms,
almost destitute of furniture; floors and walls caked with dirt, or
decked with coarse flaring prints; shameless and abandoned-looking
women; children without shoes and stockings, and with scarcely a rag
to their backs: these were the chief objects that met the view. Of
men, few were visible--the majority being out on business, it is to be
presumed; but where a solitary straggler was seen, his sinister looks
and mean attire were in perfect keeping with the spot. So thickly
inhabited were these wretched dwellings, that every chamber, from
garret to cellar, swarmed with inmates. As to the cellars, they looked
like dismal caverns, which a wild beast would shun. Clothes-lines were
hung from house to house, festooned with every kind of garment. Out of
the main street branched several alleys and passages, all displaying
the same degree of misery, or, if possible, worse, and teeming with
occupants. Personal security, however, forbade any attempt to track
these labyrinths; but imagination, after the specimen afforded, could
easily picture them. It was impossible to move a step without insult
or annoyance. Every human being seemed brutalised and degraded; and
the women appeared utterly lost to decency, and made the street ring
with their cries, their quarrels, and their imprecations. It was a
positive relief to escape from this hotbed of crime to the world
without, and breathe a purer atmosphere.

Such being the aspect of the Rookery in the daytime, what must it have
been when crowded with its denizens at night! Yet at such an hour it
will now be necessary to enter its penetralia.

After escaping from the ruined house in the Vauxhall-road, the two
ruffians shaped their course towards Saint Giles's, running the
greater part of the way, and reaching the Broadway Just as the church
clock struck two. Darting into a narrow alley, and heedless of any
obstructions they encountered in their path, they entered a somewhat
wider cross-street, which they pursued for a short distance, and then
struck into an entry, at the bottom of which was a swing door that
admitted them into a small court, where they found a dwarfish person
wrapped in a tattered watchman's great-coat, seated on a stool with a
horn lantern in his hand and a cutty in his mouth, the glow of which
lighted up his hard, withered features. This was the deputy-porter of
the lodging-house they were about to enter. Addressing him by the name
of Old Parr, the ruffians passed on, and lifting the latch of another
door, entered a sort of kitchen, at the farther end of which blazed a
cheerful fire, with a large copper kettle boiling upon it. On one side
of the room was a deal table, round which several men of sinister
aspect and sordid attire were collected, playing at cards. A smaller
table of the same material stood near the fire, and opposite it was a
staircase leading to the upper rooms. The place was dingy and dirty in
the extreme, the floors could not have been scoured for years, and the
walls were begrimed with filth. In one corner, with his head resting
on a heap of coals and coke, lay a boy almost as black as a chimney-
sweep, fast asleep. He was the waiter. The principal light was
afforded by a candle stuck against the wall, with a tin reflector
behind it. Before the fire, with his back turned towards it, stood a
noticeable individual, clad in a velveteen jacket, with ivory buttons,
a striped waistcoat, drab knees, a faded black silk neckcloth tied in
a great bow, and a pair of ancient Wellingtons ascending half-way up
his legs, which looked disproportionately thin when compared with the
upper part of his square, robustious, and somewhat pursy frame. His
face was broad, jolly, and good-humoured, with a bottle-shaped nose,
fleshy lips, and light grey eyes, glistening with cunning and roguery.
His hair, which dangled in long flakes over his ears and neck, was of
a dunnish red, as were also his whiskers and beard. A superannuated
white castor, with a black hatband round it, was cocked knowingly on
one side of his head, and gave him a flashy and sporting look. His
particular vocation was made manifest by the number of dogs he had
about him. A beautiful black-tan spaniel, of Charles the Second's
breed, popped its short snubby nose and long silken ears out of each
coat-pocket. A pug was thrust into his breast, and he carried an
exquisite Blenheim under either arm. At his feet reposed an Isle of
Skye terrier, and a partly cropped French poodle, of snowy whiteness,
with a red worsted riband round his throat. This person, it need
scarcely be said, was a dog-fancier, or, in other words, a dealer in,
and a stealer of dogs, as well as a practiser of all the tricks
connected with that nefarious trade. His self-satisfied air made it
evident he thought himself a smart clever fellow,--and adroit and
knavish he was, no doubt,--while his droll, plausible, and rather
winning manners, helped him materially to impose upon his customers.
His real name was Taylor, but he was known among his companions by the
appellation of Ginger. On the entrance of the Sandman and the Tinker,
he nodded familiarly to them, and with a sly look inquired--"Vell, my
'arties--wot luck?"

"Oh, pretty middling'," replied the Sandman, gruffly.

And seating himself at the table, near the fire, he kicked up the lad,
who was lying fast asleep on the coals, and bade him fetch a pot of
half-and-half. The Tinker took a place beside him, and they waited in
silence the arrival of the liquor, which, when it came, was disposed
of at a couple of pulls; while Mr. Ginger, seeing they were engaged,
sauntered towards the card-table, attended by his four-footed

"And now," said the Sandman, unable to control his curiosity longer,
and taking out his pocket-book, "we'll see what fortun' has given us."

So saying, he unclasped the pocket-book, while the Tinker bent over
him in eager curiosity. But their search for money was fruitless. Not
a single bank-note was forthcoming. There were several memoranda and
slips of paper, a few cards, and an almanack for the year--that was,
all. It was a great disappointment.

"So we've had all this trouble for nuffin', and nearly got shot into
the bargain," cried the Sandman, slapping down the book on the table
with an oath. "I vish I'd never undertaken the job."

"Don't let's give it up in sich an 'urry," replied the Tinker; "summat
may be made on it yet. Let's look over them papers."

"Look 'em over yourself," rejoined the Sandman, pushing the book
towards him. "I've done wi' 'em. Here, lazy-bones, bring two glasses'
o' rum-and-water--stiff, d'ye hear?"

While the sleepy youth bestirred himself to obey these injunctions,
the Tinker read over every memorandum in the pocket-book, and then
proceeded carefully to examine the different scraps of paper with
which it was filled. Not content with one perusal, he looked them all
over again, and then began to rub his hands with great glee.

"Wot's the matter?" cried the Sandman, who had lighted a cutty, and
was quietly smoking it. "Wot's the row, eh?"

"Vy, this is it," replied the Tinker, unable to contain his
satisfaction; "there's secrets contained in this here pocket-book
as'll be worth a hundred pound and better to us. We ha'n't had our
trouble for nuffin'."

"Glad to hear it!" said the Sandman, looking hard at him. "Wot kind o'
secrets are they?"

"Vy, hangin' secrets," replied the Tinker, with mysterious emphasis.
"He seems to be a terrible chap, and to have committed murder

"Wholesale!" echoed the Sandman, removing the pipe from his lips.
"That sounds awful. But what a precious donkey he must be to register
his crimes i' that way."

"He didn't expect the pocket-book to fall into our hands," said the

"Werry likely not," replied the Sandman; "but somebody else might see
it. I repeat, he must be a fool. S'pose we wos to make a entry of
everythin' we does. Wot a nice balance there'd be agin us ven our
accounts comed to be wound up."

"Ourn is a different bus'ness altogether," replied the Tinker. "This
seems a werry mysterious sort o' person. Wot age should you take him
to be?"

"Vy, five-an' twenty at the outside," replied the Sandman.

"Five-an'-sixty 'ud be nearer the mark," replied the Tinker. "There's
dates as far back as that."

"Five-an'-sixty devils!" cried the Sandman; "there must be some
mistake i' the reckonin' there.".

"No, it's all clear an' reg'lar," rejoined the other; "and that
doesn't seem to be the end of it neither. I looked over the papers
twice, and one, dated 1780, refers to some other dokiments."

"They must relate to his granddad, then," said the Sandman; "it's
impossible they can refer to him."

"But I tell 'ee they do refer to him," said the Tinker, somewhat
angrily, at having his assertion denied; "at least, if his own word's
to be taken. Anyhow, these papers is waluable to us. If no one else
believes in 'em, it's clear he believes in 'em hisself, and will be
glad to buy 'em from us."

"That's a view o' the case worthy of an Old Bailey lawyer," replied
the Sandman. "Wot's the gemman's name?"

"The name on the card is Auriol Darcy," replied the Tinker.

"Any address?" asked the Sandman.

The Tinker shook his head.

"That's unlucky agin," said the Sandman. "Ain't there no sort o'

"None votiver, as I can perceive," said the Tinker.

"Vy, zounds, then, ve're jist vere ve started from," cried the
Sandman. "But it don't matter. There's not much chance o' makin' a
bargin vith him. The crak o' the skull I gave him has done his

"Nuffin' o' the kind," replied the Tinker. "He alvays recovers from
every kind of accident."

"Alvays recovers!" exclaimed the Sandman, in amazement. "Wot a
constitootion he must have."

"Surprisin'!" replied the Tinker; "he never suffers from injuries--at
least, not much; never grows old; and never expects to die; for he
mentions wot he intends doin' a hundred years hence."

"Oh, he's a lu-nattic!" exclaimed the Sandman, "a downright lu-nattic;
and that accounts for his wisitin' that 'ere ruined house, and a-
fancyin' he heerd some one talk to him. He's mad, depend upon it. That
is, if I ain't cured him."

"'I'm of a different opinion," said the Tinker.

"And so am I," said Mr. Ginger, who had approached unobserved, and
overheard the greater part of their discourse.

"Vy, vot can you know about it, Ginger?" said the Sandman, looking up,
evidently rather annoyed.

"I only know this," replied Ginger, "that you've got a good case, and
if you'll let me into it, I'll engage to make summat of it."

"Vell, I'm agreeable," said the Sandman.

"And so am I," added the Tinker.

"Not that I pays much regard to wot you've bin a readin' in his
papers," pursued Ginger; "the gemman's evidently half-cracked, if he
ain't cracked altogether--but he's jist the person to work upon. He
fancies hisself immortal--eh?"

"Exactly so," replied the Tinker.

"And he also fancies he's 'committed a lot o' murders?" pursued

"A desperate lot," replied the Tinker.

"Then he'll be glad to buy those papers at any price," said Ginger.
"Ve'll deal vith him in regard to the pocketbook, as I deals vith
regard to a dog--ask a price for its restitootion.".

"We must find him out first," said the Sandman.

"There's no difficulty in that," rejoined Ginger. "You must be
constantly on the look-out. You're sure to meet him some time or

"That's true," replied the Sandman; "and there's no fear of his
knowin' us, for the werry moment he looked round I knocked him on the

"Arter all," said the Tinker, "there's no branch o' the perfession so
safe as yours, Ginger. The law is favourable to you, and the beaks is
afeerd to touch you. I think I shall turn dog-fancier myself."

"It's a good business," replied Ginger, "but it requires a hedication.
As I wos sayin', we gets a high price sometimes for restorin' a
favourite, especially ven ve've a soft-hearted lady to deal vith.
There's some vimen as fond o' dogs as o' their own childer, and ven ve
gets one o' their precious pets, ve makes 'em ransom it as the
brigands you see at the Adelphi or the Surrey sarves their prisoners,
threatenin' to send first an ear, and then a paw, or a tail, and so
on. I'll tell you wot happened t'other day. There wos a lady--a Miss
Vite--as was desperate fond of her dog. It wos a ugly warmint, but no
matter for that--the creater had gained her heart. Vell, she lost it;
and, somehow or other, I found it. She vos in great trouble, and a
friend o' mine calls to say she can have the dog agin, but she must
pay eight pound for it. She thinks this dear, and a friend o' her own
adwises her to wait, sayin' better terms will be offered; so I sends
vord by my friend that if she don't come down at once the poor
animal's throat vill be cut that werry night."

"Ha!--ha!--ha!" laughed the others.

"Vell, she sent four pound, and I put up with it," pursued Ginger;
"but about a month arterwards she loses her favourite agin, and,
strange to say, I finds it. The same game is played over again, and
she comes down with another four pound. But she takes care this time
that I sha'n't repeat the trick; for no sooner does she obtain
persession of her favourite than she embarks in the steamer for
France, in the hope of keeping her dog safe there."

"Oh! Miss Bailey, unfortinate Miss Bailey!--Fol de-riddle tol-ol-lol--
unfortinate Miss Bailey!" sang the Tinker.

"But there's dog-fanciers in France, ain't there?" asked the Sandman.

"Lor, bless 'ee, yes," replied Ginger; "there's as many fanciers i'
France as here. Vy, ve drives a smartish trade wi' them through them
foreign steamers. There's scarcely a steamer as leaves the port o'
London but takes out a cargo o' dogs. Ve sells 'em to the stewards,
stokers, and sailors--cheap--and no questins asked. They goes to
Ostend, Antverp, Rotterdam, Hamburg, and sometimes to Havre. There's a
Mounseer Coqquilu as comes over to buy dogs, and ve takes 'em to him
at a house near Billinsgit market."

"Then you're alvays sure o' a ready market somehow," observed the

"Sartin," replied Ginger, "cos the law's so kind to us. Vy, bless you,
a perliceman can't detain us, even if he knows ve've a stolen dog in
our persession, and ve svears it's our own; and yet he'd stop you in a
minnit if he seed you with a suspicious-lookin' bundle under your arm.
Now, jist to show you the difference atwixt the two perfessions:--I
steals a dog--walue, maybe, fifty pound, or p'raps more. Even if I'm
catched i' the fact I may get fined twenty pound, or have six months'
imprisonment; vile, if you steals an old fogle, walue three fardens,
you'll get seven years abroad, to a dead certainty."

"That seems hard on us," observed the Sandman, reflectively.

"It's the law!" exclaimed Ginger, triumphantly. "Now, ve generally
escapes by payin' the fine, 'cos our pals goes and steals more dogs to
raise the money. Ve alvays stands by each other. There's a reg'lar
horganisation among us; so ve can alvays bring vitnesses to svear vot
ve likes, and ve so puzzles the beaks, that the case gets dismissed,
and the constable says, 'Vich party shall I give the dog to, your
vorship?' Upon vich, the beak replies, a-shakin of his vise noddle,
'Give it to the person in whose persession it was found. I have
nuffin' more to do vith it.' In course the dog is delivered up to us."

"The law seems made for dog-fanciers," remarked the Tinker.

"Wot d'ye think o' this?" pursued Ginger. "I 'wos a-standin' at the
corner o' Gray's Inn-lane vith some o' my pals near a coach-stand, ven
a lady passes by vith this here dog--an' a beauty it is, a real long-
eared Charley--a follerin' of her. Vell, the moment I spies it, I
unties my apron, whips up the dog, and covers it up in a trice. Vell,
the lady sees me, an' gives me in charge to a perliceman. But that
si'nifies nuffin'. I brings six vitnesses to svear the dog vos mine,
and I actually had it since it vos a blind little puppy; and, wot's
more, I brings its mother, and that settles the pint. So in course I'm
discharged; the dog is given up to me; and the lady goes avay
lamentin'. I then plays the amiable, an' offers to sell it her for
twenty guineas, seein' as how she had taken a fancy to it; but she
von't bite. So if I don't sell it next week, I shall send it to
Mounseer Coqquilu. The only vay you can go wrong is to steal a dog wi'
a collar on, for if you do, you may get seven years' transportation
for a bit o' leather and a brass plate vorth a shillin', vile the
animal, though vorth a hundred pound, can't hurt you. There's law
again--ha, ha!"

"Dog-fancier's law!" laughed the Sandman.

"Some of the Fancy is given to cruelty," pursued Ginger, "and crops a
dog's ears, or pulls out his teeth to disguise him; but I'm too fond
o' the animal for that. I may frighten old ladies sometimes, as I told
you afore, but I never seriously hurts their pets. Nor did I ever kill
a dog for his skin, as some on 'em does."

"And you're always sure o' gettin' a dog, if you vants it, I s'pose?"
inquired the Tinker.

"Alvays," replied Ginger. "No man's dog is safe. I don't care how he's
kept, ve're sure to have him at last. Ve feels our vay with the
sarvents, and finds out from them the walley the master or missis sets
on the dog, and soon after that the animal's gone. Vith a bit o'
liver, prepared in my partic'lar vay, I can tame the fiercest dog as
ever barked, take him off his chain, an' bring him arter me at a

"And do respectable parties ever buy dogs knowin' they're stolen?"
inquired the Tinker.

"Ay, to be sure," replied Ginger, "sometimes first-rate nobs. They put
us up to it themselves; they'll say, 'I've jist left my Lord So-and-
So's, and there I seed a couple o' the finest pointers I ever clapped
eyes on. I vant you to get me list sich another couple.' Vell, ve
understands in a minnit, an' in doo time the identicle dogs finds
their vay to our customer."

"Oh! that's how it's done?" remarked the Sandman.

"Yes, that's the vay," replied Ginger. "Sometimes a party'll vant a
couple o' dogs for the shootin' season; and then ve asks, 'Vich vay
are you a-goin'--into Surrey or Kent?' And accordin' as the answer is
given ve arranges our plans."

"Vell, yourn appears a profitable and safe employment, I must say,"
remarked the Sandman.

"Perfectly so," replied Ginger. "Nothin' can touch us till dogs is
declared by statute to be property, and stealin' 'em a misdemeanour.
And that won't occur in my time."

"Let's hope not," rejoined the other two.

"To come back to the pint from vich ve started," said the Tinker; "our
gemman's case is not so surprisin' as it at first appears. There are
some persons as believe they never will die--and I myself am of the
same opinion. There's our old deputy here--him as ve calls Old Parr
vy, he declares he lived in Queen Bess's time, recollects King Charles
bein' beheaded perfectly vell, and remembers the Great'Fire o' London,
as if it only occurred yesterday."

"Walker!" exclaimed Ginger, putting his finger to his nose.

"You may larf, but it's true," replied the Tinker. "I recollect an old
man tellin' me that he knew the deputy sixty years ago, and he looked
jist the same then as now,--neither older nor younger."

"Humph!" exclaimed Ginger. "He don't look so old now."

"That's the cur'ousest part of it," said the Tinker. "He don't like to
talk of his age unless you can get him i' the humour; but he once told
me he didn't know why he lived so long, unless it were owin' to a
potion he'd swallowed, vich his master, who was a great conjuror in
Queen Bess's days, had brew'd."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Ginger. "I thought you too knowin' a cove, Tinker,
to be gulled by such an old-vife's story as that."

"Let's have the old fellow in and talk to him," replied the Tinker.
"Here, lazy-bones," he added, rousing the sleeping youth, "go an' tell
Old Parr ve vants his company over a glass o' rum-an'-vater."


A furious barking from Mr. Ginger's dogs, shortly after the departure
of the drowsy youth, announced the approach of a grotesque-looking
little personage, whose shoulders barely reached to a level with the
top of the table. This was Old Parr. The dwarf's head was much too
large for his body, as is mostly the case with undersized persons, and
was covered with a forest of rusty black hair, protected by a
strangely shaped seal-skin cap. His hands and feet were equally
disproportioned to his frame, and his arms were so long that he could
touch his ankles while standing upright. His spine was crookened, and
his head appeared buried in his breast. The general character of his
face seemed to appertain to the middle period of life; but a closer
inspection enabled the beholder to detect in it marks of extreme old
age. The nose was broad and flat, like that of an orang-outang; the
resemblance to which animal was heightened by a very long upper lip,
projecting jaws, almost total absence of chin, and a retreating
forehead. The little old man's complexion was dull and swarthy, but
his eyes were keen and sparkling.

His attire was as singular as his person. Having recently served as
double to a famous demon-dwarf at the Surrey Theatre, he had become
possessed of a cast-off pair of tawny tights, an elastic shirt of the
same material and complexion, to the arms of which little green bat-
like wings were attached, while a blood-red tunic with vandyke points
was girded round his waist. In this strange apparel his diminutive
limbs were encased, while additional warmth was afforded by the great-
coat already mentioned, the tails of which swept the floor after him
like a train.

Having silenced his dogs with some difficulty, Mr. Ginger burst into a
roar of laughter, excited by the little old man's grotesque
appearance, in which he was joined by the Tinker; but the Sandman
never relaxed a muscle of his sullen countenance.

Their hilarity, however, was suddenly checked by an inquiry from the
dwarf, in a shrill, odd tone, 'whether they had sent for him only to
laugh at him?'

"Sartainly not, deputy," replied the Tinker. "Here, lazy-bones,
glasses o' rum-an'-vater, all round."

The drowsy youth bestirred himself to execute the command. The spirit
was brought; water was procured from the boiling copper; and the
Tinker handed his guest a smoking rummer, accompanied with a polite
request to make himself comfortable.

Opposite the table at which the party were seated, it has been said,
was a staircase old and crazy, and but imperfectly protected by a
broken hand-rail. Midway up it stood a door equally dilapidated, but
secured by a chain and lock, of which Old Parr, as deputy-chamberlain,
kept the key. Beyond this point, the staircase branched off on the
right, and a row of stout wooden banisters, ranged like the feet of so
many cattle, was visible from beneath. Ultimately, the staircase
reached a small gallery, if such a name can be applied to a narrow
passage, communicating with the bedrooms, the doors of which, as a
matter of needful precaution, were locked outside; and as the windows
were grated, no one could leave his chamber without the knowledge of
the landlord or his representative. No lights were allowed in the
bedrooms, nor in the passage adjoining them.

Conciliated by the Tinker's offering, Old Parr mounted the staircase,
and planting himself near the door, took off his great-coat, and sat
down upon it. His impish garb being thus more fully displayed, he
looked so unearthly and extraordinary that the dogs began to howl
fearfully, and Ginger had enough to do to quiet them.

Silence being at length restored, the Tinker, winking slyly at his
companions, opened the conversation.

"I say, deputy," he observed, "ve've bin havin' a bit o' a dispute
vich you can settle for us."

"Well, let's see," squeaked the dwarf. "What is it?"

"Vy, it's relative to your age," rejoined the Tinker. "Ven wos you

"It's so long ago, I can't recollect," returned Old Parr, rather

"You must ha' seen some changes in your time?" resumed the Tinker,
waiting till the little old man had made some progress with his grog.

"I rayther think I have--a few," replied Old Parr, whose tongue the
generous liquid had loosened. "I've seen this great city of London
pulled down, and built up again--if that's anything. I've seen it
grow, and grow, till it has reached its present size. You'll scarcely
believe me, when I tell you, that I recollect this Rookery of ours--
this foul vagabond neighbourhood--an open country field, with hedges
round it, and trees. And a lovely spot it was. Broad Saint Giles's, at
the time I speak of, was a little country village, consisting of a few
straggling houses standing by the roadside, and there wasn't a single
habitation between it and Convent-garden (for so the present market
was once called); while that garden, which was fenced round with
pales, like a park, extended from Saint Martin's-lane to Drury-house,
a great mansion situated on the easterly side of Drury-lane, amid a
grove of beautiful timber."

"My eyes!" cried Ginger, with a prolonged whistle; "the place must be
preciously transmogrified indeed!"

"If I were to describe the changes that have taken place in London
since I've known It, I might go on talking for a month," pursued Old
Parr. "The whole aspect of the place is altered. The Thames itself is
unlike the Thames of old. Its waters were once as clear and bright
above London-bridge as they are now at Kew or Richmond; and its banks,
from Whitefriars to Scotland-yard, were edged with gardens. And then
the thousand gay wherries and gilded barges that covered its bosom--
all are gone--all are gone!"

"Those must ha' been nice times for the jolly young vatermen vich at
Blackfriars wos used for to ply," chanted the Tinker; "but the
steamers has put their noses out o' joint."

"True," replied Old Parr; "and I, for one, am sorry for it.
Remembering, as I do, what the river used to be when enlightened by
gay craft and merry company, I can't help wishing its waters less
muddy, and those ugly coal-barges, lighters, and steamers, away.
London is a mighty city, wonderful to behold and examine,
inexhaustible in its wealth and power; but in point of beauty, it is
not to be compared with the city of Queen Bess's days. You should have
seen the Strand then--a line of noblemen's houses--and as to Lombard-
street and Gracechurch-street, with their wealthy goldsmith's shops--
but I don't like to think of 'em."

"Yell, I'm content vith Lunnun as it is," replied the Tinker,
"'specially as there ain't much chance o' the ould city bein'

"Not much," replied the dwarf, finishing his glass, which was
replenished at a sign from the Tinker.

"I s'pose, my wenerable, you've seen the king as bequeathed his name
to these pretty creaters," said Ginger, raising his coat--pockets, so
as to exhibit the heads of the two little black-and-tan spaniels.

"What! old Rowley?" cried the dwarf--"often. I was page to his
favourite mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland, and I have seen him a
hundred times with a pack of dogs of that description at his heels."

"Old Rowley wos a king arter my own 'art," said Ginger, rising and
lighting a pipe at the fire. "He loved the femi-nine specious as well
as the ca-nine specious. Can you tell us anythin' more about him?"

"Not now," replied Old Parr. "I've seen so much, and heard so much,
that my brain is quite addled. My memory sometimes deserts me
altogether, and my past life appears like a dream. Imagine what my
feelings must be, to walk through streets, still called by the old
names, but in other respects wholly changed. Oh! if you could but have
a glimpse of Old London, you would not be able to endure the modern
city. The very atmosphere was different from that which we now
breathe, charged with the smoke of myriads of sea-coal fires; and the
old picturesque houses had a charm about them, which the present
habitations, however commodious, altogether want."

"You talk like one o' them smart chaps they calls, and werry properly,
penny-a-liars," observed Ginger. "But you make me long to ha' lived i'
those times."

"If you had lived in them, you would have belonged to Paris-garden, or
the bull-baiting and bear-baiting houses in Southwark," replied Old
Parr. "I've seen fellows just like you at each of those places.
Strange, though times and fashions change, men continue the same. I
often meet a face that I can remember in James the First's time. But
the old places are gone--clean gone!"

"Accordin' to your own showin', my wenerable friend, you must ha'
lived uppards o' two hundred and seventy year," said Ginger, assuming
a consequential manner. "Now, doorin' all that time, have you never
felt inclined to' kick the bucket?"

"Not the least," replied Old Parr. "My bodily health has been
excellent. But, as I have just said, my intellects are a little

"Not a little, I should think," replied Ginger, hemming significantly.
"I don't know vether you're a deceivin' of us or yourself, my
wenerable; but von thing's quite clear--you can't have lived all that
time. It's not in nater."

"Very well, then--I haven't," said Old Parr.

And he finished his rum-and-water, and set down the glass, which was
instantly filled again by the drowsy youth.

"You've seen some picters o' Old Lunnum, and they've haanted you in
your dreams, till you've begun to fancy you lived in those times,"
said Ginger.

"Very likely," replied Old Parr--"very likely."

There was something, however, in his manner calculated to pique the
dog-fancier's curiosity.

"How comes it," he said, stretching out his legs, and arranging his
neckcloth,--"how comes it, if you've lived so long, that you ain't
higher up in the stirrups--better off, as folks say?"

The dwarf made no reply, but covering his face with his hands, seemed
a prey to deep emotion. After a few moments' pause, Ginger repeated
the question.

"If you won't believe what I tell you, it's useless to give an
answer," said Old Parr, somewhat gruffly.

"Oh yes, I believe you, deputy," observed the Tinker, "and so does the

"Well, then," replied the dwarf, "I'll tell you how it comes to pass.
Fate has been against me. I've had plenty of chances, but I never
could get on. I've been in a hundred different walks of life, but they
always led down hill. It's my destiny."

"That's hard," rejoined the Tinker--"werry hard. But how d'ye account
for livin' so long?" he added, winking as he spoke to the others.

"I've already given you an explanation," replied the dwarf.

"Ay, but it's a cur-ous story, and I vants my friends to hear it,"
said the Tinker, in a coaxing tone.

"Well then, to oblige you, I'll go through it again," rejoined the
dwarf. "You must know I was for some time servant to Doctor Lamb, an
old alchemist, who lived during the reign of good Queen Bess, and who
used to pass all his time in trying to find out the secret of changing
lead and copper into gold."

"I've known several indiwiduals as has found out that secret,
wenerable," observed Ginger. "And ve calls 'em smashers, now-a-days
not halchemists."

"Doctor Lamb's object was actually to turn base metal into gold,"
rejoined Old Parr, in a tone of slight contempt. "But his chief aim
was to produce the Elixir of Long Life. Night and day he worked at the
operation;--night and day I laboured with him, until at last we were
both brought to the verge of the grave in our search after
immortality. One night--I remember it well,--it was the last night of
the sixteenth century,--a young man, severely wounded, was brought to
my master's dwelling on London-bridge. I helped to convey him to the
laboratory, where I left him with the doctor, who was busy with his
experiments. My curiosity being aroused, I listened at the door, and
though I could not distinguish much that passed inside, I heard
sufficient to convince me that Doctor Lamb had made the grand
discovery, and succeeded in distilling the elixir. Having learnt this,
I went down stairs, wondering what would next ensue. Half an hour
elapsed, and while the bells were ringing in the new year joyfully,
the young man whom I had assisted to carry upstairs, and whom I
supposed at death's door, marched down as firmly as if nothing had
happened, passed by me, and disappeared, before I could shake off my
astonishment. I saw at once he had drunk the elixir."

"Ah!--ah!" exclaimed the Tinker, with a knowing glance at his
companions, who returned it with gestures of equal significance.

"As soon as he was gone," pursued the dwarf, "I flew to the
laboratory, and there, extended on the floor, I found the dead body of
Dr. Lamb. I debated with myself what to do--whether to pursue his
murderer, for such I accounted the young man; but, on reflection, I
thought the course useless. I next looked round to see whether the
precious elixir was gone. On the table stood a phial, from which a
strong spirituous odour exhaled; but it was empty. I then turned my
attention to a receiver, connected by a worm with an alembic on the
furnace. On examining it, I found it contained a small quantity of a
bright transparent liquid, which, poured forth into a glass, emitted
precisely the same odour as the phial. Persuaded this must be the
draught of immortality, I raised it to my lips; but apprehension lest
it might be poison stayed my hand. Reassured, however, by the thought
of the young man's miraculous recovery, I quaffed the potion. It was
as if I had swallowed fire, and at first I thought all was over with
me. I shrieked out; but there was no one to heed my cries, unless it
were my dead master, and two or three skeletons with which the walls
were garnished. And these, in truth, did seem to hear me; for the dead
corpse opened its glassy orbs, and eyed me reproachfully; the
skeletons shook their fleshless arms and gibbered; and the various
strange objects with which the chamber was filled, seemed to deride
and menace me. The terror occasioned by these fantasies, combined with
the potency of the draught, took away my senses. When I recovered, I
found all tranquil. Doctor Lamb was lying stark and stiff at my feet,
with an expression of reproach on his fixed countenance; and the
skeletons were hanging quietly in their places. Convinced that I was
proof against death, I went forth. But a curse went with me! From that
day to this, I have lived, but it has been in such poverty and
distress, that I had better far have died. Besides, I am constantly
haunted by visions of my old master. He seems to hold converse with
me--to lead me into strange places."

"Exactly the case with the t'other," whispered the Tinker to the
Sandman. "Have you ever, in the coorse o' your long life, met the
young man as drank the 'lixir?" he inquired of the dwarf.


"Do you happen to rekilect his name?"

"No; it has quite escaped my memory," answered Old Parr.

"Should you rekilect it, if you heerd it?" asked the Tinker.

"Perhaps I might," returned the dwarf; "but I can't say."

"Wos it Auriol Darcy?" demanded the other.

"That was the name," cried Old Parr, starting up in extreme surprise.
"I heard Doctor Lamb call him so. But how, in the name of wonder, do
you come to know it?"

"Ve've got summat, at last," said the Tinker, with a self-applauding
glance at his friends.

"How do you come to know it, I say?" repeated the dwarf, in extreme

"Never mind," rejoined the Tinker, with a cunning look; "you see I
does know some cur'ous matters as vell as you, my old file. You'll be
good evidence, in case ve vishes to prove the fact agin him."

"Prove what?--and against whom?" cried the

"One more questin, and I've done," pursued the Tinker. "Should you
know this young man again, in case you chanced to come across him?"

"No doubt of it," replied Old Parr; "his figure often flits before me
in dreams."

"Shall ve let him into it?" said the Tinker, consulting his companions
in a low tone.

"Ay--ay," replied the Sandman.

"Better vait a bit," remarked Ginger, shaking his head dubiously.
"There's no hurry."

"No; ve must decide at vonce," said the Tinker. "Jist examine them
papers," he added, handing the pocket-book to Old Parr, "and favour us
vith your opinion on 'em."

The dwarf was about to unclasp the book committed to his charge, when
a hand was suddenly thrust through the banisters of the upper part of
the staircase, which, as has been already stated, was divided from the
lower by the door. A piece of heavy black drapery next descended like
a cloud, concealing all behind it except the hand, with which the
dwarf was suddenly seized by the nape of the neck, lifted up in the
air, and, notwithstanding his shrieks and struggles, carried clean

Great confusion attended his disappearance. The dogs set up a
prodigious barking, and flew to the rescue--one of the largest of them
passing over the body of the drowsy waiter, who had sought his
customary couch upon the coals, and rousing him from his slumbers;
while the Tinker, uttering a fierce imprecation, upset his chair in
his haste to catch hold of the dwarf's legs; but the latter was
already out of reach, and the next moment had vanished entirely.

"My eyes! here's a pretty go!" cried Ginger, who, with his back to the
fire, had witnessed the occurrence in open-mouthed astonishment, "Vy,
curse it! if the wenerable ain't a-taken the pocket-book with him!
It's my opinion the devil has flown avay with the old feller. His time
wos nearer at 'and than he expected."

"Devil or not, I'll have him back agin, or at all events the pocket-
book!" cried the Tinker. And, dashing up the stairs, he caught hold of
the railing above, and swinging himself up by a powerful effort,
passed through an opening, occasioned by the removal of one of the

Groping along the gallery, which was buried in profound darkness, he
shouted to the dwarf, but received no answer to his vociferations;
neither could he discover any one, though he felt on either side of
the passage with outstretched hands. The occupants of the different
chambers, alarmed by the noise, called out to know what was going
forward; but being locked in their rooms, they could render no

While the Tinker was thus pursuing his search in the dark, venting his
rage and disappointment in the most dreadful imprecations, the
staircase door was opened by the landlord, who had found the key in
the great-coat left behind by the dwarf. With the landlord came the
Sandman and Ginger, the latter of whom was attended by all his dogs,
still barking furiously; while the rear of the party was brought up by
the drowsy waiter, now wide awake with fright, and carrying a candle.

But though every nook and corner of the place was visited--though the
attics were searched and all the windows examined--not a trace of the
dwarf could be discovered, nor any clue to his mysterious
disappearance detected. Astonishment and alarm sat on every

"What the devil can have become of him?" cried the landlord, with a
look of dismay.

"Ay, that's the questin!" rejoined the Tinker. "I begin to be of
Ginger's opinion, that the devil himself must have flown avay vith
him. No von else could ha' taken a fancy to him."

"I only saw a hand and a black cloak," said the Sandman.

"I thought I seed a pair o' hoofs," cried the waiter; "and I'm quite
sure I seed a pair o' great glitterin' eyes," he added, opening his
own lacklustre orbs to their widest extent.

"It's a strange affair," observed the landlord, gravely. "It's certain
that no one has entered the house wearing a cloak such as you
describe; nor could any of the lodgers, to my knowledge, get out of
their rooms. It was Old Parr's business, as you know, to lock 'em up
carefully for the night."

"Veil, all's over vith him now," said the Tinker; "and vith our
affair, too, I'm afeerd."

"Don't say die jist yet," rejoined Ginger. "The wenerable's gone, to
be sure; and the only thing he has left behind him, barrin' his top-
coat, is this here bit o' paper vich dropped out o' the pocket-book as
he wos a-takin' flight, and vich I picked from the floor. It may be o'
some use to us. But come, let's go down stairs. There's no good in
stayin' here any longer."

Concurring in which sentiment, they all descended to the lower room.


A WEEK had elapsed since Auriol Darcy was conveyed to the iron-
merchant's dwelling, after the attack made upon him by the ruffians in
the ruined house; and though almost recovered from the serious
injuries he had received, he still remained the guest of his

It was a bright spring morning, when a door leading to the yard in
front of the house opened, and a young girl, bright and fresh as the
morning's self, issued from it.

A lovelier creature than Ebba Thorneycroft cannot be imagined. Her
figure was perfection slight, tall, and ravishingly proportioned, with
a slender waist, little limbs, and fairy feet that would have made the
fortune of an opera-dancer. Her features were almost angelic in
expression, with an outline of the utmost delicacy and precision not
cold, classical regularity but that softer and incomparably more
lovely mould peculiar to our own clime. Ebba's countenance was a type
of Saxon beauty. Her complexion was pure white, tinged with a slight
bloom. Her eyes were of a serene summer blue, arched over by brows
some shades darker than the radiant tresses that fell on either cheek,
and were parted over a brow smoother than alabaster. Her attire was
simple, but tasteful, and by its dark colour threw into relief the
exceeding fairness of her skin.

Ebba's first care was to feed her favourite linnet, placed in a cage
over the door. Having next patted the head of a huge bulldog who came
out of his kennel to greet her, and exchanged a few words with two men
employed at a forge in the inner part of the building on the right,
she advanced farther into the yard.

This part of the premises, being strewn with ironwork of every
possible shape, presented a very singular appearance, and may merit
some description. There were heaps of rusty iron chains flung together
like fishermen's nets, old iron area-guards, iron kitchen-fenders, old
grates, safes, piles of old iron bowls, a large assortment of old iron
pans and dishes, a ditto of old ovens, kettles without number, sledge-
hammers, anvils, braziers, chimney-cowls, and smokejacks.

Stout upright posts, supporting cross-beams on the top, were placed at
intervals on either side of the yard, and these were decorated, in the
most artistic style, with rat-traps, man-traps, iron lanterns,
pulleys, padlocks, chains, trivets, triangles, iron rods, disused
street lamps, dismounted cannon and anchors. Attached to hooks in the
cross-beam nearest the house hung a row of old horseshoes, while from
the centre depended a large rusty bell. Near the dog's kennel was a
tool-box, likewise garnished with horse-shoes, and containing pincers,
files, hammers, and other implements proper to the smith. Beyond this
was an open doorway leading to the workshop, where the two men before
mentioned were busy at the forge.

Though it was still early, the road was astir with passengers, and
many wagons and carts, laden with hay, straw, and vegetables, were
passing. Ebba, however, had been solely drawn forth by the beauty of
the morning, and she stopped for a moment at the street gate, to
breathe the barmy air. As she inhaled the gentle breeze, and felt the
warm sunshine upon her cheek, her thoughts wandered away into the
green meadows in which she had strayed as a child, and she longed to
ramble amid them again. Perhaps she scarcely desired a solitary
stroll; but however this might be, she was too much engrossed by the
reverie to notice a tall man, wrapped in a long black cloak, who
regarded her with the most fixed attention, as he passed on the
opposite side of the road.

Proceeding to a short distance, this personage crossed over, and
returned slowly towards the iron-merchant's dwelling. Ebba then, for
the first time, remarked him, and was startled by his strange,
sinister appearance. His features were handsome, but so malignant and
fierce in expression, that they inspired only aversion. A sardonic
grin curled his thin lips, and his short, crisply curled hair, raven
black in hue, contrasted forcibly and disagreeably with his cadaverous
complexion. An attraction like that of the snake seemed to reside in
his dark blazing eyes, for Ebba trembled like a bird beneath their
influence, and could not remove her gaze from them. A vague
presentiment of coming ill smote her, and she dreaded lest the
mysterious being before her might be connected in some inexplicable
way with her future destiny.

On his part, the stranger was not insensible to the impression he had
produced, and suddenly halting, he kept his eyes riveted on those of
the girl, who, after remaining spell-bound, as it were, for a few
moments, precipitately retreated towards the house.

Just as she reached the door, and was about to pass through it, Auriol
came forth. He was pale, as if from recent suffering, and bore his
left arm in a sling.

"You look agitated," he said, noticing Ebba's uneasiness. "What has

"Not much," she replied, a deep blush mantling her cheeks. "But I have
been somewhat alarmed by the person near the gate."

"Indeed!" cried Auriol, darting forward. "Where is he? I see no one."

"Not a tall man, wrapped in a long black cloak?" rejoined Ebba,
following him cautiously. "Ha!" cried Auriol. "Has he been here?"

"Then you know the person I allude to?" she rejoined.

"I know some one answering his description," he replied, with a forced

"Once beheld, the man I mean is not to be forgotten," said Ebba. "He
has a countenance such as I never saw before. If I could believe in
the 'evil eye', I should be sure he possessed it."

"'Tis he, there can be no doubt," rejoined Auriol, in a sombre tone.

"Who and what is he, then?" demanded Ebba.

"He is a messenger of ill," replied Auriol, "and I am thankful he is

"Are you quite sure of it?" she asked, glancing timorously up and down
the road. But the mysterious individual could no longer be seen.

"And so, after exciting my curiosity in this manner, you will not
satisfy it?" she said.

"I cannot," rejoined Auriol, somewhat sternly.

"Nay, then, since you are so ungracious, I shall go and prepare
breakfast," she replied. "My father must be down by this time."

"Stay!" cried Auriol, arresting her, as she was about to pass through
the door. "I wish to have a word with you."

Ebba stopped, and the bloom suddenly forsook her cheeks.

But Auriol seemed unable to proceed. Neither dared to regard the
other; and a profound silence prevailed between them for a few

"Ebba," said Auriol at length, "I am about to leave your father's
house today."

"Why so soon?" she exclaimed, looking up into his face. "You are not
entirely recovered yet."

"I dare not stay longer," he said.

"Dare not!" cried Ebba. And she again cast down her eyes; but Auriol
made no reply.

Fortunately the silence was broken by the clinking of the smith's
hammers upon the anvil. "If you must really go," said Ebba, looking
up, after a long pause, "I hope we shall see you again?"

"Most assuredly," replied Auriol. "I owe your worthy father a deep
debt of gratitude--a debt which, I fear, I shall never be able to

"My father is more than repaid in saving your life," she replied. "I
am sure he will be sorry to learn you are going so soon."

"I have been here a week," said Auriol. "If I remained longer, I might
not be able to go at all."

There was another pause, during which a stout old fellow in the
workshop quitted the anvil for a moment, and, catching a glimpse of
the young couple, muttered to his helpmate:

"I say, Ned, I'm a-thinkin' our master'll soon have a son-in-law.
There's pretty plain signs on it at yonder door."

"So there be, John," replied Ned, peeping round. "He's a good-lookin'
young feller that. I wish ve could hear their discoorse."

"No, that ain't fair," replied John, raking some small coal upon the
fire, and working away at the bellows.

"I would not for the world ask a disagreeable question," said Ebba,
again raising her eyes, "but since you are about to quit us, I must
confess I should like to know something of your history."

"Forgive me if I decline to comply with your desire," replied Auriol.
"You would not believe me, were I to relate my history. But this I may
say, that it is stranger and wilder than any you ever heard. The
prisoner, in his cell is not restrained by more terrible fetters than
those which bind me to silence."

Ebba gazed at him as if she feared his reasoning were wandering.

"You think me mad," said Auriol; "would I were so! But I shall never
lose the clear perception of my woes. Hear me, Ebba! Fate has brought
me into this house. I have seen you, and experienced your gentle
ministry; and it is impossible, so circumstanced, to be blind to your
attractions. I have only been too sensible to them--but I will not
dwell on that theme, nor run the risk of exciting a passion which must
destroy you. I will ask you to hate me--to regard me as a monster whom
you ought to shun rather than as a being for whom you should entertain
the slightest sympathy."

"You have some motive in saying this to me," cried the terrified girl.

"My motive is to warn you," said Auriol. "If you love me, you are
lost--utterly lost!"

She was so startled, that she could make no reply, but burst into
tears. Auriol took her hand, which she unresistingly yielded.

"A terrible fatality attaches to me, in which you must have no share,"
he said, in a solemn tone.

"Would you had never come to my father's house!" she exclaimed, in a
voice of anguish.

"Is it, then, too late?" cried Auriol, despairingly.

"It is--if to love you be fatal," she rejoined.

"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, striking his forehead with his clenched hand.
"Recall your words--Ebba--recall them--but no, once uttered--it is
impossible. You are bound to me for ever. I must fulfil my destiny."

At this juncture a low growl broke from the dog, and, guided by the
sound, the youthful couple beheld, standing near the gate, the tall
dark man in the black cloak. A fiendish smile sat upon his

"That is the man who frightened me!" cried Ebba.

"It is the person I supposed!" ejaculated Auriol. "I must speak to
him. Leave me, Ebba. I will join you presently."

And as the girl, half sinking with apprehension, withdrew, he advanced
quickly toward the intruder.

"I have sought you for some days," said the tall man, in a stern,
commanding voice. "You have not kept your appointment with me."

"I could not," replied Auriol--"an accident has befallen me."

"I know it," rejoined the other. "I am aware you were assailed by
ruffians in the ruined house over the way. But you are recovered now,
and can go forth. You ought to have communicated with me."

"It was my intention to do so," said Auriol.

"Our meeting cannot be delayed much longer," pursued the stranger. "I
will give you three more days. On the evening of the last day, at the
hour of seven, I shall look for you at the foot of the statue in Hyde

"I will be there," replied Auriol.

"That girl must be the next victim," said the stranger, with a grim

"Peace!" thundered Auriol.

"Nay, I need not remind you of the tenure by which you maintain your
power," rejoined the stranger. "But I will not trouble you further

And, wrapping his cloak more closely round him, he disappeared.

"Fate has once more involved me in its net," cried Auriol, bitterly.
"But I will save Ebba, whatever it may cost me. I will see her no

And instead of returning to the house, he hurried away in the opposite
direction of the stranger.


The evening of the third day arrived, and Auriol entered Hyde Park by
Stanhope-gate. Glancing at his watch, and finding it wanted nearly
three quarters of an hour of the time appointed for his meeting with
the mysterious stranger, he struck across the Park, in the direction
of the Serpentine River. Apparently he was now perfectly recovered,
for his arm was without the support of the sling, and he walked with
great swiftness. But his countenance was deathly pale, and his looks
were so wild and disordered, that the few persons he encountered
shrank from him aghast.

A few minutes' rapid walking brought him to the eastern extremity of
the Serpentine, and advancing close to the edge of the embankment, he
gazed at the waters beneath his feet.

"I would plunge into them, if I could find repose," he murmured. "But
it would avail nothing. I should only add to my sufferings. No; I must
continue to endure the weight of a life burned by crime and remorse,
till I can find out the means of freeing myself from it. Once I
dreaded this unknown danger, but now I seek for it in vain."

The current of his thoughts were here interrupted by the sudden
appearance of a dark object on the surface of the water, which he at
first took to he a huge fish, with a pair of green fins springing from
its back; but after watching it more closely for a few moments, he
became convinced that it was a human being, tricked out in some
masquerade attire, while the slight struggles which it made proved
that life was not entirely extinct.

Though, the moment before, he had contemplated self-destruction, and
had only been restrained from the attempt by the certainty of failing
in his purpose, instinct prompted him to rescue the perishing creature
before him. Without hesitation, therefore, and without tarrying to
divest himself of his clothes, he dashed into the water, and striking
out, instantly reached the object of his quest, which still continued
to float, and turning it over, for the face was downwards, he
perceived it was an old man, of exceedingly small size, habited in a
pantomimic garb. He also remarked that a rope was twisted round the
neck of the unfortunate being, making it evident that some violent
attempt had been made upon his life.

Without pausing for further investigation, he took firm hold of the
leathern wings of the dwarf, and with his disengaged hand propelled
himself towards the shore, dragging the other after him. The next
instant he reached the bank, clambered up the low brickwork, and
placed his burden in safety.

The noise of the plunge had attracted attention, and several persons
now hurried to the spot. On coming up, and finding Auriol bending over
a water-sprite--for such, at first sight, the dwarf appeared--they
could not repress their astonishment. Wholly insensible to the
presence of those around him, Auriol endeavoured to recall where he
had seen the dwarf before. All at once, the recollection flashed upon
him, and he cried aloud, "Why, it is my poor murdered grandfather's
attendant, Flapdragon! But no no!--he must be dead ages ago! Yet the
resemblance is singularly striking!"

Auriol's exclamations, coupled with his wild demeanour, surprised the
bystanders, and they came to the conclusion that he must be a
travelling showman, who had attempted to drown his dwarf--the
grotesque, impish garb of the latter convincing them that he had been
exhibited at a booth. They made signs, therefore, to each other not to
let Auriol escape, and one of them, raising the dwarf's head on his
knee, produced a flask, and poured some brandy from it down his
throat, while others chafed his hands These efforts were attended with
much speedier success than might have been anticipated. After a
struggle or two for respiration the dwarf opened his eyes, and gazed
at the group around him.

"It must be Flapdragon!" exclaimed Auriol.

"Ah! who calls me?" cried the dwarf.

"I!" rejoined Auriol. "Do you not recollect me?"

"To be sure!" exclaimed the dwarf, gazing at him fixedly; "you are--"
and he stopped.

"You have been thrown into the water, Master Flapdragon?" cried a
bystander, noticing the cord round the dwarf's throat.

"I have," replied the little old man.

"By your governor--that is, by this person?" cried another, laying
hold of Auriol.

"By him--no," said the dwarf; "I have not seen that gentleman for
nearly three centuries."

"Three centuries, my little patriarch?" said the man who had given him
the brandy. "That's a long time. Think again."

"It's perfectly true, nevertheless," replied the dwarf.

"His wits have been washed away by the water," said the first speaker.
"Give him a drop more brandy."

"Not a bit of it," rejoined the dwarf; "my senses were never clearer
than at this moment. At last we have met," he continued, addressing
Auriol, "and I hope we shall not speedily part again. We hold life by
the same tie."

"How came you in the desperate condition in which I found you?"
demanded Auriol, evasively.

"I was thrown into the canal with a stone to my neck, like a dog about
to be drowned," replied the dwarf. "But, as you are aware, I'm not so
easily disposed of."

Again the bystanders exchanged significant looks.

"By whom was the attempt made?" inquired Auriol.

"I don't know the villain's name," rejoined the dwarf, "but he's a
very tall, dark man, and is generally wrapped in a long black cloak."

"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol. "When was it done?"

"Some nights ago, I should fancy," replied the dwarf, "for I've been a
terrible long time under water. I have only just managed to shake off
the stone."

At this speech there was a titter of incredulity among the bystanders.

"You may laugh, but it's true!" cried the dwarf, angrily.

"We must speak of this anon," said Auriol. "Will you convey him to the
nearest tavern?" he added, placing money in the hands of the man who
held the dwarf in his arms.

"Willingly, sir," replied the man. "I'll take him to the Life
Guardsman, near the barracks, that's the nearest public."

"I'll join him there in an hour," replied Auriol, moving away.

And as he disappeared, the man took up his little burden, and bent his
steps towards the barracks.

Utterly disregarding the dripping state of his habiliments, Auriol
proceeded quickly to the place of rendezvous. Arrived there, he looked
around, and not seeing any one, flung himself upon a bench at the foot
of the gentle eminence on which the gigantic statue of Achilles is

It was becoming rapidly dark, and heavy clouds, portending speedy
rain, increased the gloom. Auriol's thoughts were sombre as the
weather and the hour, and he fell into a deep fit of abstraction, from
which he was roused by a hand laid on his shoulder.

Recoiling at the touch, he raised his eyes, and beheld the stranger
leaning over him, and gazing at him with a look of diabolical
exultation. The cloak was thrown partly aside, so as to display the
tall, gaunt figure of its wearer; while the large collar of sable fur
with which it was decorated stood out like the wings of a demon. The
stranger's hat was off, and his high broad forehead, white as marble,
was fully revealed.

"Our meeting must be brief," he said. "Are you prepared to fulfill the

"What do you require?" replied Auriol.

"Possession of the girl I saw three days ago," said the other; "the
iron-merchant's daughter, Ebba. She must be mine."

"Never!" cried Auriol, firmly--"never!"

"Beware how you tempt me to exert my power," said the stranger; "she
must be mine--or---"

"I defy you!" rejoined Auriol; "I will never consent."

"Fool!" cried the other, seizing him by the arm, and fixing a
withering glance upon him. "Bring her to me ere the week be out, or
dread my vengeance!"

And, enveloping himself in his cloak, he retreated behind the statue,
and was lost to view.

As he disappeared, a moaning wind arose, and heavy rain descended.
Still Auriol did not quit the bench.



On the night of the 1st of March, 1800, and at a late hour, a man,
wrapped in a large horseman's cloak, and of strange and sinister
appearance, entered an old deserted house in the neighbourhood of
Stepney-green. He was tall, carried himself very erect, and seemed in
the full vigour of early manhood; but his features had a worn and
ghastly look, as if bearing the stamp of long-indulged and frightful
excesses, while his dark gleaming eyes gave him an expression almost

This person had gained the house from a garden behind it, and now
stood in a large dismantled hall, from which a broad oaken staircase,
with curiously-carved banisters, led to a gallery, and hence to the
upper chambers of the habitation. Nothing could be more dreary than
the aspect of the place. The richly moulded ceiling was festooned with
spiders' webs, and in some places had fallen in heaps upon the floor;
the glories of the tapestry upon the walls were obliterated by damps;
the squares and black and white marble, with which the hall was paved,
were loosened, and quaked beneath the footsteps; the wide and empty
fireplace yawned like the mouth of a cavern; the bolts of the closed
windows were rusted in their sockets; and the heaps of dust before the
outer door proved that long years had elapsed since any one had passed
through it.

Taking a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, the individual in
question gazed for a moment around him, and then, with a sardonic
smile playing upon his features, directed his steps towards a room on
the right, the door of which stood open.

This chamber, which was large and cased with oak, was wholly
unfurnished, like the hall, and in an equally dilapidated condition.
The only decoration remaining on its walls was the portrait of a
venerable personage in the cap and gown of Henry the Eighth's time,
painted against a panel--a circumstance which had probably saved it
from destruction and beneath it, fixed in another panel, a plate of
brass, covered with mystical characters and symbols, and inscribed
with the name Cyprianus de Rougemont, Fra. R.C. The same name likewise
appeared upon a label beneath the portrait, with the date, 1550.

Pausing before the portrait, the young man threw the light of the
lantern full upon it, and revealed features somewhat resembling his
own in form, but of a severe and philosophic cast. In the eyes alone
could be discerned the peculiar and terrible glimmer which
distinguished his own glances. After regarding the portrait for some
time fixedly, he thus addressed it:

"Dost hear me, old ancestor?" he cried. "I, thy descendant, Cyprian de
Rougemont, call upon thee to point out where thy gold is hidden? I
know that thou wert a brother of the Rosy Cross--one of the
illuminati--and didst penetrate the mysteries of nature, and enter the
region of light. I know also, that thou wert buried in this house with
a vast treasure; but though I have made diligent search for it, and
others have searched before me, thy grave has never yet been
discovered! Listen to me! Methought Satan appeared to me in a dream
last night, and bade me come hither, and I should find what I sought.
The conditions he proposed were, that I should either give him my own
soul, or win him that of Auriol Darcy. I assented. I am here. Where is
thy treasure?"

After a pause, he struck the portrait with his clenched hand,
exclaiming in a loud voice:

"Dost hear me, I say, old ancestor? I call on thee to give me thy
treasure. Dost hear, I say?"

And he repeated the blow with greater violence.

Disturbed by the shock, the brass plate beneath the picture started
from its place, and fell to the ground.

"What is this?" cried Rougemont, gazing into the aperture left by the
plate. "Ha!--my invocation has been heard!"

And, snatching up the lantern, he discovered, at the bottom of a
little recess, about two feet deep, a stone, with an iron ring in the
centre of it. Uttering a joyful cry, he seized the ring, and drew the
stone forward without difficulty, disclosing an open space beyond it.

"This, then,' is the entrance to my ancestor's tomb," cried Rougemont;
"there can be no doubt of it. The old Rosicrucian has kept his secret
well; but the devil has helped me to wrest it from him. And now to
procure the necessary implements, in case, as is not unlikely, I
should experience further difficulty."

With this, he hastily quitted the room, but returned almost
immediately with a mallet, a lever, and a pitchfork; armed with which
and the lantern, he crept through the aperture. This done, he found
himself at the head of a stone staircase, which he descended, and came
to the arched entrance of a vault. The door, which was of stout oak,
was locked, but holding up the light towards it, he read the following


"In two hundred and fifty years I shall open!" cried Rougemont, "and
the date 1550--why, the exact time is arrived. Old Cyprian must have
foreseen what would happen, and evidently intended to make me his
heir. There was no occasion for the devil's interference. And see, the
key is in the lock. So!" And he turned it, and pushing against the
door with some force, the rusty hinges gave way, and it fell inwards.

From the aperture left by the fallen door, a soft and silvery light,
streamed forth, and, stepping forward, Rougemont found himself in a
spacious vault, from the ceiling of which hung a large globe of
crystal, containing in its heart a little flame, which diffused a
radiance gentle as that of the moon, around, This, then, was the ever-
burning lamp of the Rosicrucians, and Rougemont gazed at if with
astonishment. Two hundred and fifty years had elapsed since that
wondrous flame had been lighted, and yet it burnt on brightly as ever.
Hooped round the globe was a serpent with its tail in its mouth--an
emblem of eternity--wrought in purest gold; while above it were a pair
of silver wings, in allusion to the soul. Massive chains of the more
costly metal, fashioned like twisted snakes, served as suspenders to
the lamp.

But Rougemont's astonishment at this marvel quickly gave way to other
feelings, and he gazed around the vault with greedy eyes.

It was a septilateral chamber, about eight feet high built of stone,
and supported by beautifully groined arches. The surface of the
masonry was as smooth and fresh as if the chisel had only just left

In six of the corners were placed large chests, ornamented with
ironwork of the most exquisite workmanship, and these Rougemont's
imagination pictured as filled with inexhaustible treasure; while in
the seventh corner, near the door, was a beautiful little piece of
monumental sculpture in white marble, representing two kneeling and
hooded figures, holding a veil between them, which partly concealed
the entrance to a small recess. On one of the chests opposite the
monument just described stood a strangely formed bottle and a cup of
antique workmanship, both incrusted with gems.

The walls were covered with circles, squares and diagrams, and in some
places were ornamented with grotesque carvings. In the centre of the
vault was a round altar of black marble, covered with a plate of gold,
on which Rougemont read the following inscription:

Hoc universi compendium unius mihi sepulcrum feci.

"Here, then, old Cyprian lies," he cried.

And, prompted by some irresistible impulse, he seized the altar by the
upper rim, and overthrew it. The heavy mass of marble fell with a
thundering crash, breaking asunder the flag beneath it. It might be
the reverberation of the vaulted roof, but a deep groan seemed to
reproach the young man for his sacrilege. Undeterred, however, by this
warning, Rougemont placed the point of the lever between the
interstices of the broken stone, and, exerting all his strength,
speedily raised the fragments, and laid open the grave.

Within it, in the garb he wore in life, with his white beard streaming
to his waist, lay the unconfined body of his ancestor, Cyprian de
Rougemont. The corpse had evidently been carefully embalmed, and the
features were unchanged by decay. Upon the breast, with the hands
placed over it, lay a large book, bound in black vellum, and fastened
with brazen clasps. Instantly possessing himself of this mysterious
looking volume, Rougemont knelt upon the nearest chest, and opened it.
But he was disappointed in his expectation. All the pages he examined
were filled with cabalistic characters, which he was totally unable to

At length, however, he chanced upon One page, the import of which he
comprehended, and he remained for some time absorbed in its
contemplation, while an almost fiendish smile played upon his

"Aha!" he exclaimed, closing the volume, "I see now the cause of my
extraordinary dream. My ancestor's wondrous power was of infernal
origin--the result, in fact, of a compact with the Prince of Darkness.
But what care I for that? Give me wealth--no matter what source it
comes from!--ha! ha!"

And seizing the lever, he broke open the chest beside him. It was
filled with bars of silver. The next he visited in the same way was
full of gold. The third was laden with pearls and precious stones; and
the rest contained treasure to an incalculable amount. Rougemont gazed
at them in transports of joy.

"At length I have my wish," he cried. "Boundless wealth, and therefore
boundless power is mine. I can riot in pleasure--riot in vengeance. As
to my soul, I will run the risk of its perdition; but it shall go hard
if I destroy not that of Auriol. His love of play and his passion for
Edith Talbot shall be the means by which I will work. But I must not
neglect another agent which is offered me. That bottle, I have learnt
from yon volume, contains an infernal potion, which, without
destroying life, shatters the brain, and creates maddening fancies. It
will well serve my purpose; and I thank thee, Satan, for the gift."


Another two months after this occurrence, and near midnight, a young
man was hurrying along Pall-mall, with a look of the wildest despair,
when his headlong course was suddenly arrested by a strong grasp,
while a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"It is useless to meditate self-destruction Auriol Darcy," cried the
person who had checked him. "If you find life a burden, I can make it
tolerable to you."

Turning round at the appeal, Auriol beheld a tall man, wrapped in a
long black cloak, whose sinister features were well known to him.

"Leave me, Rougemont!" he cried, fiercely. "I want no society--above
all, not yours. You know very well that you have ruined me, and that
nothing more is to be got from me. Leave me, I say, or I may do you a

"Tut, tut, Auriol, I am your friend!" replied Rougemont. "I purpose to
relieve your distress." "Will you give me back the money you have won
from me?" cried Auriol. "Will you pay my inexorable creditors? Will
you save me from a prison?"

"I will do all this, and more," replied Rougemont. "I will make you
one of the richest men in London."

"Spare your insulting jests, sir," cried Auriol. "I am in no mood to
bear them."

"I am not jesting," rejoined Rougemont. "Come with me, and you shall
be convinced of my sincerity."

Auriol at length assented, and they turned into Saint James's-square,
and paused before a magnificent house. Rougemont ascended the steps.
Auriol, who had accompanied him almost mechanically, gazed at him with

"Do you live here?" he inquired.

"Ask no questions," replied Rougemont, knocking at the door, which was
instantly opened by a hall porter, while other servants in rich
liveries appeared at a distance. Rougemont addressed a few words in an
undertone to them, and they instantly bowed respectfully to Auriol,
while the foremost of them led the way up a magnificent staircase.

All this was a mystery to the young man, but he followed his conductor
without a word, and was presently ushered into a gorgeously furnished
and brilliantly illuminated apartment.

The servant then left them; and as soon as he was gone Auriol
exclaimed--"Is it to mock me that you have brought me hither?"

"To mock you--no," replied Rougemont. "I have told you that I mean to
make you rich. But you look greatly exhausted. A glass of wine will
revive you."

And as he spoke, he stepped towards a small cabinet, and took from it
a curiously-shaped bottle and a goblet.

"Taste this wine--it has been long in our family," he added, filling
the cup.

"It is a strange, bewildering drink," cried Auriol, setting down the
empty goblet, and passing his hand before his eyes.

"You have taken it upon an empty stomach--that is all," said
Rougemont. "You will be better anon."

"I feel as if I were going mad," cried Auriol. "It is some damnable
potion you have given me."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Rougemont. "It reminds you of the elixir you once

"A truce to this raillery!" cried Auriol, angrily. "I have said I am
in no mood to bear it!"

"Pshaw! I mean no offence," rejoined the other, changing his manner.
"What think you of this house?"

"That it is magnificent," replied Auriol, gazing around. "I envy you
its possession."

"It shall be yours, if you please," replied Rougemont.

"Mine! you are mocking me again."

"Not in the least. You shall buy it from me, if you please."'

"At what price?" asked Auriol, bitterly.

"At a price you can easily pay," replied the other. "Come this way,
and we will conclude the bargain."

Proceeding towards the farther end of the room, they entered a small
exquisitely furnished chamber, surrounded with sofas of the most
luxurious description. In the midst was a table, on which writing
materials were placed.

"It were a fruitless boon to give you this house without the means of
living in it," said Rougemont, carefully closing the door. "This
pocket-book will furnish you with them."

"Notes to an immense amount!" cried Auriol, opening the pocket-book,
and glancing at its contents.

"They are yours, together with the house," cried Rougemont, "if you
will but sign a compact with me."

"A compact!" cried Auriol, regarding him with a look of undefinable
terror. "Who and what are you?"

"Some men would call me the devil!" replied Rougemont, carelessly.
"But you know me too well to suppose that I merit such a designation.
I offer you wealth. What more could you require?"

"But upon what terms?" demanded Auriol.

"The easiest imaginable," replied the other. "You shall judge for

And as he spoke, he opened a writing-desk upon the table, and took
from it a parchment.

"Sit down," he added, "and read this."

Auriol complied, and as he scanned the writing he became transfixed
with fear and astonishment, while the pocket-book dropped from his

After a while, he looked up at Rougemont, who was leaning over his
shoulder, and whose features were wrinkled with a derisive smile.

"Then you are the Fiend?" he cried.

"If you will have it so--certainly," replied the other.

"You are Satan in the form of the man I once knew," cried Auriol.
"Avaunt! I will have no dealings with you."

"I thought you wiser than to indulge in such idle fears, Darcy,"
rejoined the other. "Granting even your silly notion of me to be
correct, what need you be alarmed? You are immortal."

"True," rejoined Auriol thoughtfully; "but yet---"

"Pshaw!" rejoined the other, "sign and have done with the matter."

"By this compact I am bound to deliver a victim--a female victim--
whenever you shall require it," cried Auriol.

"Precisely," replied the other; "you can have no difficulty in
fulfilling that condition."

"But if I fail in doing so, I am doomed---"

"But you will not fail," interrupted the other, lighting a taper, and
sealing the parchment. "Now sign it."

Auriol mechanically took the pen, and gazed fixedly on the document.

"I shall bring eternal destruction on myself if I sign it," he

"A stroke of the pen will rescue you from utter ruin," said Rougemont,
leaning over his shoulder. "Riches and happiness are yours. You will
not have such another chance."

"Tempter!" cried Auriol, hastily attaching his signature to the paper.
But he instantly started back aghast at the fiendish laugh that rang
in his ears.

"I repent--give it me back!" he cried, endeavouring to snatch the
parchment which Rougemont thrust into his bosom.

"It is too late!" cried the latter, in a triumphant tone. "You are
mine--irredeemably mine."

"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, sinking back on the couch.

"I leave you in possession of your house," pursued Rougemont; "but I
shall return in a week, when I shall require my first victim."

"Your first victim! oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Auriol.

"Ay, and my choice falls on Edith Talbot!" replied Rougemont.

"Edith Talbot!" exclaimed Auriol; "she your victim! Think you I would
resign her I love better than life to you?"

"It is because she loves you that I have chosen her," rejoined
Rougemont, with a bitter laugh. "And such will ever be the case with
you. Seek not to love again, for your passion will be fatal to the
object of it. When the week has elapsed, I shall require Edith at your
hands. Till then, farewell!"

"Stay!" cried Auriol. "I break the bargain with thee, fiend. I will
have none of it. I abjure thee."

And he rushed wildly after Rougemont, who had already gained the
larger chamber; but, ere he could reach him, the mysterious individual
had passed through the outer door, and when Auriol emerged upon the
gallery, he was nowhere to be seen.

Several servants immediately answered the frantic shouts of the young
man, and informed him that Mr. Rougemont had quitted the house some
moments ago, telling them that their master was perfectly satisfied
with the arrangements he had made for him.

"And we hope nothing has occurred to alter your opinion, sir?" said
the hall porter.

"You are sure Mr. Rougemont is gone?" cried Auriol.

"Oh, quite sure, sir," cried the hall porter. "I helped him on with
his cloak myself. He said he should return this day week."

"If he comes I will not see him," cried Auriol, sharply; "mind that.
Deny me to him; and on no account whatever let him enter the house."

"Your orders shall be strictly obeyed," replied the porter, staring
with surprise.

"Now leave me," cried Auriol.

And as they quitted him, he added, in a tone and with a gesture of the
deepest despair, "All precautions are useless. I am indeed lost!"


On returning to the cabinet, where his fatal compact with Rougemont
had been signed, Auriol perceived the pocket-book lying on the floor
near the table, and, taking it up, he was about to deposit it in the
writing-desk, when an irresistible impulse prompted him once more to
examine its contents. Unfolding the roll of notes, he counted them,
and found they amounted to more than a hundred thousand pounds. The
sight of so much wealth, and the thought of the pleasure and the power
it would procure him, gradually dispelled his fears, and arising in a
transport of delight, he exclaimed--"Yes, yes--all obstacles are now
removed! When Mr. Talbot finds I am become thus wealthy, he will no
longer refuse me his daughter. But I am mad," he added, suddenly
checking himself--"worse than mad, to indulge such hopes. If it be
indeed the Fiend to whom I have sold myself, I have no help from
perdition! if it be man, I am scarcely less terribly fettered. In
either case, I will not, remain here longer; nor will I avail myself
of this accursed money, which has tempted me to my undoing."

And, hurling the pocket-book to the farther end of the room, he was
about to pass through the door, when a mocking laugh arrested him. He
looked round with astonishment and dread, but could see no one. After
a while, he again moved forward, but a voice, which he recognised as
that of Rougemont, called upon him to stay.

"It will be in vain to fly," said the unseen speaker. "You cannot
escape me. Whether you remain here or not--whether you use the wealth
I have given you, or leave it behind you--you cannot annul your
bargain. With this knowledge, you are at liberty to go. But remember,
on the seventh night from this I shall require Edith Talbot from you!"

"Where are you fiend?" demanded Auriol, gazing around, furiously.
"Show yourself, that I may confront you."

A mocking laugh was the only response deigned to this injunction.

"Give me back the compact," cried Auriol, imploringly. "It was signed
in ignorance. I knew not the price I was to pay for your assistance.
Wealth is of no value to me without Edith."

"Without wealth you could not obtain her," replied the voice. "You are
only, therefore, where you were. But you will think better of the
bargain tomorrow. Meanwhile, I counsel you to place the money you have
so unwisely cast from you safely under lock and key, and to seek
repose. You will awaken with very different thoughts in the morning."

"How am I to account for my sudden accession of wealth?" inquired
Auriol, after a pause.

"You a gambler, and ask that question!" returned the unseen stranger
with a bitter laugh. "But I will make your mind easy on that score. As
regards the house, you will find a regular conveyance of it within
that writing-desk, while the note lying on the table, which bears your
address, comes from me, and announces the payment of a hundred and
twenty thousand pounds to you, as a debt of honour. You see I have
provided against every difficulty. And now farewell!"

The voice was then hushed; and though Auriol addressed several other
questions to the unseen speaker no answer was returned him.

After some moments of irresolution, Auriol once more took up the
pocket-book, and deposited it in the writing-desk, in which he found,
as he had been led to expect, a deed conveying the house to him. He
then opened the note lying upon the table, and found its contents
accorded with what had just been told him. Placing it with the pocket-
book, he locked the writing-desk, exclaiming, "It is useless to
struggle further--I must yield to fate!"

This done, he went into the adjoining room, and, casting his eyes
about, remarked the antique bottle and flagon. The latter was filled
to the brim--how or with what, Auriol paused not to examine; but
seizing the cup with desperation, he placed it to his lips, and
emptied it at a draught. A species of intoxication, but pleasing as
that produced by opium, presently succeeded. All his fears left him,
and in their place the gentlest and most delicious fancies arose.
Surrendering himself delightedly to their influence, he sank upon a
couch, and for some time was wrapped in a dreamy elysium, imagining
himself wandering with Edith Talbot in a lovely garden, redolent of
sweets, and vocal with the melody of birds. Their path led through a
grove, in the midst of which was a fountain; and they were hastening
towards its marble brink, when all at once Edith uttered a scream,
and, starting back, pointed to a large black snake lying before her,
and upon which she would have trodden the next moment. Auriol sprang
forward and tried to crush the reptile with his heel; but, avoiding
the blow, it coiled around his leg, and plunged its venom teeth into
his flesh. The anguish occasioned by the imaginary wound roused him
from his slumber, and looking up, he perceived that a servant was in

Bowing obsequiously, the man inquired whether he had occasion for

"Show me to my bedroom--that is all I require," replied Auriol,
scarcely able to shake off the effect of the vision.

And, getting up, he followed the man, almost mechanically, out of the


It was late when Auriol arose on the following morning. At first,
finding himself in a large and most luxuriantly furnished chamber, he
was at a loss to conceive how he came there, and it was some time
before he could fully recall the mysterious events of the previous
night. As had been foretold, however, by Rougemont, his position did
not cause him so much anxiety as before.

After attiring himself, he descended to the lower apartments, in one
of which a sumptuous breakfast awaited him; and having partaken of it,
he took a complete survey of the house, and found it larger and more
magnificent even than he had supposed it. He next supplied himself
from the pocket-book with a certain sum, for which he fancied he might
have occasion in the course of the day, and sallied forth. His first
business was to procure a splendid carriage and horse, and to order
some new and rich habiliments to be made with the utmost expedition.

He then proceeded towards May Fair, and knocked at the door of a large
house at the upper end of Curzon-street. His heart beat violently as
he was shown into an elegant drawing-room, and his trepidation
momentarily increased, until the servant reappeared and expressed his
regret that he had misinformed him in stating that Miss Talbot was at
home. Both she and Mr. Talbot, he said, had gone out about half an
hour ago. Auriol looked incredulous, but, without making any remark,
departed. Hurrying home, he wrote a few lines to Mr. Talbot,
announcing the sudden and extraordinary change in his fortune, and
formally demanding the hand of Edith. He was about to despatch this
letter, when a note was brought him by his servant. It was from Edith.
Having ascertained his new address from his card, she wrote to assure
him of her constant attachment. Transported by this proof of her
affection, Auriol half devoured the note with kisses, and instantly
sent off his own letter to her father--merely adding a few words to
say that he would call for an answer on the morrow. But he had not to
wait thus long for a reply. Ere an hour had elapsed, Mr. Talbot
brought it in person.

Mr. Talbot was a man of about sixty--tall, thin, and gentlemanlike in
deportment, with grey hair, and black eyebrows, which lent
considerable expression to the orbs beneath them. His complexion was a
bilious brown, and he possessed none of the good looks which in his
daughter had so captivated Auriol, and which it is to be presumed,
therefore, she inherited from her mother.

A thorough man of the world, though not an unamiable person, Mr.
Talbot was entirely influenced by selfish considerations. He had
hitherto looked with an unfavourable eye upon Auriol's attentions to
his daughter, from a notion that the connection would be very
undesirable in a pecuniary point of view; but the magnificence of the
house in Saint James's square, which fully bore out Auriol's account
of his newly acquired wealth, wrought a complete change in his
opinions, and he soon gave the young man to understand that he should
be delighted to have him for a son-in-law. Finding him so favourably
disposed, Auriol entreated him to let the marriage take place--within
three days, if possible.

Mr. Talbot was greatly grieved that he could not comply with his young
friend's request but he was obliged to start the next morning for
Nottingham and could not possibly return under three days.

"But we can be married before you go?" cried Auriol.

"Scarcely, I fear," replied Mr. Talbot, smiling blandly. "You must
control your impatience, my dear young friend. On the sixth day from
this--that is; on Wednesday in next week--we are now at Friday--you
shall be made happy."

The coincidence between this appointment and the time fixed by
Rougemont for the delivery of his victim, struck Auriol forcibly. His
emotion however, escaped Mr. Talbot, who soon after departed, having
engaged his future son-in-law to dine with him at seven o'clock.

Auriol it need scarcely be said, was punctual to the hour, or, rather,
he anticipated it. He found Edith alone in the drawing-room, and
seated near the window, which was filled with choicest flowers. On
seeing him, she uttered an exclamation of joy, and sprang to meet him.
The young man pressed his lips fervently to the little hand extended
to him.

Edith Talbot was a lovely brunette. Her features were regular, and her
eyes which were perfectly splendid were dark, almond-shaped, and of
almost Oriental languor. Her hair which she wore braided over her brow
and gathered behind in a massive roll, was black and glossy as a
raven's wing. Her cheeks were dimpled, her lips of velvet softness and
her teeth like ranges of pearls. Perfect grace accompanied all her
movements, and one only wondered that feet so small as those she
possessed should have the power of sustaining a form which, though
lightsome, was yet rounded in its proportions.

"You have heard, dear Edith, that your father has consented to our
union?" said Auriol, after gazing at her for a few moments in silent

Edith murmured an affirmative, and blushed deeply.

"He has fixed Wednesday next," pursued Auriol; "but I wish an earlier
day could have been named. I have a presentiment that if our marriage
is so long delayed, it will not take place at all."

"You are full of misgivings, Auriol," she replied.

"I confess it," he said; "and my apprehensions have risen to such a
point that I feel disposed to urge you to a private marriage, during
your father's absence."

"Oh, no, Auriol; much as I love you, I could never consent to such a
step," she cried. "You cannot urge me to it. I would not abuse my dear
father's trusting love. I have never deceived him, and that is the
best assurance I can give you that I shall never deceive you."

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Talbot,
who held out both his hands to Auriol, and professed the greatest
delight to see him. And no doubt he was sincere. The dinner passed off
most pleasantly, and so did the evening; for the old gentleman was in
high sprits, and his hilarity was communicated to the young couple.
When Auriol and Mr. Talbot went upstairs to tea, they found that
Edith's aunt, Mrs. Maitland, had arrived to take charge of her during
her father's absence. This lady had always exhibited a partiality for
Auriol, and had encouraged his suit to her niece; consequently she was
well satisfied with the turn affairs had taken. It was near midnight
before Auriol could tear himself away; and when he rose to depart, Mr.
Talbot, who had yawned frequently, but fruitlessly, to give him a
hint, told him he might depend upon seeing him back on the evening of
the third day, and in the meantime he committed him to the care of
Mrs. Maitland and Edith.

Three days flew by rapidly and delightfully; and on the evening of the
last, just as the little party were assembled in the drawing-room,
after dinner, Mr. Talbot returned from his journey. "Well, here I am!"
he cried, clasping Edith to his bosom, "without having encountered any
misadventure. On the contrary, I have completed my business to my
entire satisfaction."

"Oh, how delighted I am to see you dear papa!" exclaimed Edith. "Now,
Auriol, you can have no more apprehensions!"

"Apprehensions of what?" cried Mr. Talbot.

"Of some accident befalling you, which might have interfered with our
happiness, sir," replied Auriol.

"Oh, lovers are full of idle fears!" cried Mr. Talbot. "They are
unreasonable beings. However, here I am, as I said before, safe and
sound. Tomorrow we will finish all preliminary arrangements, and the
day after you shall be made happy--ha! ha!"

"Do you know, papa, Auriol intends to give a grand ball on our
wedding-day, and has invited all his acquaintance to it?" remarked

"I hope you have not invited Cyprian Rougemont?" said Mr. Talbot,
regarding him fixedly. "I have not, sir," replied Auriol turning pale.
"But why do you particularize him?"

"Because I have heard some things of him not much to his credit,"
replied Mr. Talbot. "What--what have you heard, sir?" demanded Auriol.

"Why, one shouldn't believe all the ill one hears of a man; and,
indeed, I cannot believe all I have heard of Cyprian Rougemont,"
replied Mr. Talbot; "but I should be glad if you dropped his
acquaintance altogether. And now let us change the subject."

Mr. Talbot seated himself besides Mrs. Maitland, and began to give her
some account of his journey, which appeared to have been as pleasant
as it had been rapid.

Unable to shake off the gloom which had stolen over him, Auriol took
his leave, promising to meet Mr. Talbot at his lawyer's in Lincoln's
Inn, at noon on the following day. He was there at the time appointed
and, to Mr. Talbot's great delight, and the no small surprise of the
lawyer, paid over a hundred thousand pounds, to be settled on his
future wife.

"You are a perfect man of honour, Auriol," said Mr. Talbot, clapping
him on the shoulder, "and I hope Edith will make you an excellent
wife. Indeed, I have no doubt of it."

"Nor I,--if I ever possess her," mentally ejaculated Auriol.

The morning passed in other preparations. In the evening the lovers
met as usual, and separated with the full persuasion, on Edith's part
at least, that the next day would make them happy. Since the night of
the compact, Auriol had neither seen Rougemont, nor heard from him,
and he neglected no precaution to prevent his intrusion.


It was a delicious morning, in May, and the sun shone brightly on
Auriol's gorgeous equipage, as he drove to St. George's, Hanover-
square, where he was united to Edith. Thus far all seemed auspicious,
and he thought he could now bid defiance to fate. With the object of
his love close beside him, and linked to him by the strongest and
holiest ties, it seemed impossible she could be snatched from him.
Nothing occurred during the morning to give him uneasiness, and he
gave orders that a carriage and four should be ready an hour before
midnight, to convey him and his bride to Richmond, where they were to
spend their honeymoon.

Night came, and with it began to arrive the guests who were bidden to
the ball. No expense had been spared by Auriol to give splendour to
his fete. It was in all respects magnificent. The amusements of the
evening commenced with a concert, which was performed by the first
singers from the Italian Opera; after which, the ball was opened by
Auriol and his lovely bride. As soon as the dance was over, Auriol
made a sign to an attendant who instantly disappeared.

"Are you prepared to quit this gay scene with me, Edith?" he asked,
with a heart swelling with rapture.

"Quite so," she replied, gazing at him with tenderness; "I long to be
alone with you."

"Come then," said Auriol.

Edith arose, and passing her arm under that of her husband, they
quitted the ball-room, but in place of descending the principal
staircase, they took a more private course. The hall, which they were
obliged to cross and which they entered from a side-door, was spacious
and beautifully proportioned, and adorned with numerous statues on
pedestals. The ceiling was decorated with fresco paintings, and
supported by two stately scagliola pillars. From between these, a
broad staircase of white marble ascended to the upper room. As Auriol
had foreseen, the staircase was thronged with guests ascending to the
ball-room, the doors of which being open, afforded glimpses of the
dancers, and gave forth strains of liveliest music. Anxious to avoid a
newly arrived party in the hall, Auriol and his bride lingered for a
moment near a pillar.

"Ha! who is this?" cried Edith, as a tall man, with a sinister
countenance, and habited entirely in black moved from the farther side
of the pillar, and planted himself in their path, with his back partly
towards them.

A thrill of apprehension passed through Auriol's frame. He looked up
and beheld Rougemont, who, glancing over his shoulder fixed his
malignant gaze upon him. Retreat was now impossible.

"You thought to delude me," said Rougemont, in a deep whisper, audible
only to Auriol; "but you counted without your host. I am come to claim
my victim."

"What is the matter with you, that you tremble so, dear Auriol?" cried
Edith. "Who is this strange person?"

But her husband returned no answer. Terror had taken away his power of

"Your carriage waits for you at the door, madam--all is prepared,"
said Rougemont, advancing towards her, and taking her hand.

"You are coming, Auriol?" cried Edith, who scarcely knew whether to
draw back or go forward.

"Yes--yes," cried Auriol, who fancied he saw a means of escape. "This
is my friend, Mr. Rougemont--go with him."

"Mr. Rougemont," cried Edith. "You told my father he would not be

"Your husband did not invite me, madam," said Rougemont, with
sarcastic emphasis; "but knowing I should be welcome, I came unasked.
But let us avoid those persons."

In another moment they were at the door. The carriage was there with
its four horses, and a man-servant, in travelling attire, stood beside
the steps. Reassured by the sight, Auriol recovered his courage, and
suffered Rougemont to throw a cloak over Edith's shoulders. The next
moment she tripped up the steps of the carriage, and was ensconced
within it. Auriol was about to follow her, when he received a violent
blow on the chest, which stretched him on the pavement. Before he
could regain his feet, Rougemont had sprung into the carriage. The
steps were instantly put up by the man-servant, who mounted the box
with the utmost celerity, while the postilions, plunging spurs into
their horses, dashed off with lightning speed. As the carriage turned
the corner of King-street, Auriol, who had just arisen, beheld, by the
light of a lamp, Rougemont's face at the window of the carriage,
charged with an expression of the most fiendish triumph.

"What is the matter?" cried Mr. Talbot, who had approached Auriol. "I
came to bid you good-bye. Why do I find you here alone? Where is the
carriage?--what has become of Edith?"

"She is in the power of the Fiend, and I have sold her to him,"
replied Auriol, gloomily.

"What mean you, wretch?" cried Mr. Talbot, in a voice of distraction.
"I heard that Cyprian Rougemont was here. Can it be he that has gone
off with her?"

"You have hit the truth," replied Auriol. "He bought her with the
money I gave you. I have sold her and myself to perdition!"

"Horror!" exclaimed the old man, falling backwards.

"Ay, breathe your last--breathe your last!" cried Auriol, wildly.
"Would I could yield up my life, likewise!"

And he hurried away, utterly unconscious whither he went.



Mr. Thorneycroft and his companions had scarcely gained a passage in
the deserted house, which they had entered in the manner described in
a previous chapter, when they were alarmed by the sudden and furious
ringing of a bell overhead. The noise brought them instantly to a
halt, and each man grasped his arms in expectation of an attack, but
the peal ceasing in a few moments, and all continuing quiet, they
moved on as before, and presently reached a large hall with a lofty
window over the door, which, being without shutters, afforded light
enough to reveal the dilapidated condition of the mansion.

From this hall four side doors opened, apparently communicating with
different chambers, three of which were cautiously tried by Reeks, but
they proved to be fastened. The fourth, however, yielded to his touch,
and admitted them to a chamber, which seemed to have been recently
occupied, for a lamp was burning within it. The walls were pannelled
with dusty oak, and hung at the lower end with tapestry, representing
the Assyrian monarch Ninus, and his captive Zoroaster, King of the
Bactrians. The chief furniture consisted of three large high-backed
and grotesquely carved arm-chairs, near one of which stood a powerful
electrical machine. Squares and circles were traced upon the floor,
and here and there were scattered cups and balls, and other matters
apparently belonging to a conjuring apparatus.

The room might be the retreat of a man of science, or it might be the
repository of a juggler. But whoever its occupant was, and whatsoever
his pursuits, the good things of the world were not altogether
neglected by him, as was proved by a table spread with viands, and
furnished with glasses, together with a couple of taper-necked

While glancing upwards, Mr. Thorneycroft remarked that just above each
chair the ceiling was pierced with a round hole, the meaning of which
he could not at the time comprehend, though after circumstances
sufficiently explained it to him.

"A singular room," he observed to Reeks, on concluding his survey.
"Did you expect to find anyone here?"

"I hardly know," replied the other. "That bell may have given the
alarm. But I will soon ascertain the point. Remain here till I

"You are not going to leave us?" rejoined Mr. Thorneycroft, uneasily.

"Only for a moment," said Reeks. "Keep quiet, and no harm will befall
you. Whatever you may hear without, do not stir."

"What are we likely to hear?" asked Thorneycroft, with increasing

"That's impossible to say," answered Reeks; "but I warn you not to cry
out unnecessarily, as such an imprudence would endanger our safety."

"You are quite sure you don't mean to abandon us?" persisted

"Make yourself easy; I have no such intention," rejoined Reeks,

"Oh! ve'll take care of you, don't be afeerd, old gent," said Ginger.

"Yes, ve'll take care on you," added the Tinker and the Sandman.

"You may depend upon them as upon me, sir," said Reeks. "Before we
explore the subterranean apartments, I wish to see whether anyone is

"Wot's that you say about subterranean apartments, Mr. Reeks?"
interposed Ginger. "Ye ain't a-goin' below, eh?"

But without paying any attention to the inquiry, Reeks quitted the
room, and closed the door carefully after him. He next crossed the
hall, and cautiously ascending a staircase at the farther end of it,
reached the landing-place. Beyond it was a gallery, from which several
chambers opened.

Advancing a few paces, he listened intently, and hearing a slight
sound in an apartment to the right, he stepped softly towards it, and
placing his eye to the keyhole, beheld a tall man, dressed in black
pacing to and fro with rapid strides, while three other persons,
wrapped in sable gowns, and disguised with hideous masks, stood silent
and motionless at a little distance from him. In the tall man he
recognised Cyprian Rougemont. Upon a table in the middle of the room
was laid a large open volume, bound in black vellum. Near it stood a
lamp, which served to illumine the scene.

Suddenly, Rougemont stopped, and turning over several leaves of the
book, which were covered with cabalistic characters, appeared in
search of some magic formula. Before he could find it, however, a
startling interruption occurred. An alarum-bell, fixed against the
wall, began to ring, and at the same moment the doors of a cabinet
flew open, and a large ape (for such it seemed to Reeks), clothed in a
woollen shirt and drawers, sprang forth, and bounding upon the table
beside Rougemont, placed its mouth to his ear. The communication thus
strangely made seemed highly displeasing to Rougemont, who knitted his
brows, and delivered some instructions in an under tone to the monkey.
The animal nodded its head in token of obedience, jumped off the
table, and bounded back to the cabinet, the doors of which closed as
before. Rougemont next took up the lamp, with the evident intention of
quitting the room, seeing which, Reeks hastily retreated to an
adjoining chamber, the door of which was fortunately open, and had
scarcely gained its shelter when the four mysterious personages
appeared on the gallery. Reeks heard their footsteps descending the
staircase, and then, creeping cautiously after them, watched them
across the hall, and pause before the chamber containing Mr.
Thorneycroft and his companions. After a moment's deliberation,
Rougemont noiselessly locked the door, took out the key, and leaving
two of his attendants on guard, returned with the third towards the

Without tarrying to confront them, Reeks started back, and hurried
along the gallery till he came to a back staircase, which conducted
him, by various descents, to the basement floor, where, after
traversing one or two vaults, he entered a subterranean passage,
arched overhead, and having several openings at the sides, apparently
communicating with other passages. It was lighted at intervals by
lamps, which emitted a feeble radiance.

By the light of one of these, Reeks discovered the door of a cell. It
was of iron, and as he struck it with his hand, returned a hollow
clangour. On repeating the blow, a hoarse voice from within cried,
"Leave me in peace!"

"Is it Auriol Darcy who speaks?" demanded Reeks.

"It is," replied the prisoner. "Who are you that put the question?"

"A friend," replied Reeks.

"I have no friend here," said Auriol.

"You are mistaken," rejoined Reeks. "I have come with Mr. Thorneycroft
to deliver you."

"Mr. Thorneycroft has come too late. He has lost his daughter,"
replied Auriol.

"What has happened to her?" demanded Reeks.

"She is in the power of the Fiend," replied Auriol.

"I know she is detained by Cyprian Rougemont," said Reeks. "But what
has befallen her."

"She has become like his other victims--like my victims!" cried
Auriol, distractedly.

"Do not despair," rejoined Reeks. "She may yet be saved."

"Saved! how?" cried Auriol. "All is over."

"So it may seem to you," rejoined Reeks; "but you are the victim of

"Oh! that I could think so!" exclaimed Auriol. "But no--I saw her fall
into the pit. I beheld her veiled figure rise from it. I witnessed her
signature to the fatal scroll. There could be no illusion in what I
then beheld."

"Despite all this, you will see her again," said Reeks.

"Who are you who give me this promise?" asked Auriol.

"As I have already declared, a friend," replied Reeks.

"Are you human?"

"As yourself."

"Then you seek in vain to struggle with the powers of darkness," said

"I have no fear of Cyprian Rougemont," rejoined Reeks, with a laugh.

"Your voice seems familiar to me," said Auriol. "Tell me who you are?"

"You shall know anon," replied Reeks. "But, hist!--we are interrupted.
Someone approaches."


More than ten minutes had elapsed since Reek's departure, and Mr.
Thorneycroft, who had hitherto had some difficulty in repressing his
anger, now began to give vent to it in muttered threats and
complaints. His impatience was shared by the Tinker, who, stepping up
to Ginger, said--"Wot the devil can Mr. Reeks be about? I hope nuffin'
has happened to him."

"Don't mention a certain gent's name here," remarked Ginger; "or if
you do, treat it vith proper respect."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the Tinker, impatiently; "I don't like a man
stayin' avay in this manner. It looks suspicious. I wotes ve goes and
sees arter him. Ve can leave the old gent to take a keviet nap by
himself. Don't disturb yourself, sir. Ve'll only jist giv' a look
about us, and then come back."

"Stay where you are, rascal!" cried Thorneycroft, angrily. "I won't be
left. Stay where you are, I command you!"

"Vell, ve've got a noo captain, I'm a-thinkin'," said the Tinker,
winking at the others. "Ve've no vish to disobleege you, sir. I'll
only jist peep out into the hall, and see if Mr. Reeks is anyvhere
thereabouts. Vy, zounds!" he added, as he tried the door, "it's

"What's locked?" cried Thorneycroft, in dismay.

"The door, to be sure," replied the Tinker. "Ve're prisoners."

"Oh Lord, you don't say so!" cried the iron-merchant, in an agony of
fright. "What will become of us?"

A roar of laughter from the others converted his terror into fury

"I see how it is," he cried. "You have entrapped me, ruffians. It's
all a trick. You mean to murder me. But I'll sell my life dearly. The
first one who approaches shall have his brains blown out." And as he
spoke, he levelled a pistol at the Tinker's head.

"Holloa! wot are you arter, sir?" cried the individual, sheltering his
head with his hands. "You're a labourin' under a mistake--a complete
mistake. If it is a trap, ve're catched in it as vall as yourself."

"To be sure ve is," added the Sandman. "Sit down, and vait a bit. I
dessay Mr. Reeks'll come back, and it von't do no good gettin' into a

"Well, well, I must resign myself, I suppose," groaned Thorneycroft,
sinking into a chair. "It's a terrible situation to be placed in--shut
up in a haunted house."

"I've been in many much vurser sitivations," observed Ginger, "and I
alvays found the best vay to get out on 'em wos to take things

"Besides, there's no help for it," said the Tinker, seating himself.

"That remains to be seen," observed the Sandman, taking the chair
opposite Thorneycroft. "If Reeks don't come back soon, I'll bust open
the door."

"Plenty o' time for that," said Ginger, sauntering towards the table
on which the provisions were spread; "wot do you say to a mouthful o'

"I wouldn't touch 'em for the world," replied the Sandman.

"Nor I," added the Tinker; "they may be pisoned."

"Pisoned--nonsense!" cried Ginger; "don't you see some von has been a-
takin' his supper here? I'll jist finish it for him."

"Vith all my 'art," said the Tinker.

"Don't touch it on any account," cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "I agree with
your companions, it may be poisoned."

"Oh! I ain't afeerd," cried Ginger, helping himself to a dish before
him. "As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr.
Thorneycroft," he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. "My
service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!" drawing a long breath
after the draught, and smacking his lips with amazing satisfaction.
"Never tasted sich a glass o' wine in all my born days," he continued,
replenishing the goblet: "I wonder wot it's called?"

"Prussic acid," replied Mr. Thorneycroft, gruffly.

"Proossic fiddlesticks," cried Ginger; "more likely Tokay. I shall
finish the bottle, and never be the vorse for it!"

"He's gettin' svipy," said the Tinker. "I vonder vether it's really

"No such thing," cried Thorneycroft; "let him alone."

"I must taste it," said the Tinker, unable to resist the temptation.
"Here, give us a glass, Ginger!"

"Vith pleasure," replied Ginger, filling a goblet to the brim, and
handing it to him. "You'd better be perwailed upon, Sandy."

"Vell, I s'pose I must," replied the Sandman, taking the goblet
proffered him.

"Here's the beak's healths!" cried Ginger. "I gives that toast 'cos
they're alvays so kind to us dog-fanciers."

"Dog-fanciers--say, rather, dog-stealers; for that's the name such
vagabonds deserve to be known by," said Mr. Thorneycroft, with some

"Vell, ve von't quarrel about names," replied Ginger, laughing, "but
I'll relate a circumstance to you as'll prove that wotever your
opinion of our wocation may be, the beaks upholds it."

"There can be but one opinion as to your nefarious profession," said
Mr. Thorneycroft, "and that is, that it's as bad as horse-stealing and
sheep-stealing, and should be punished as those offences are

"So I think, sir," said Ginger, winking at the others; "but to my
story, and don't interrupt me, or I can't get through vith it
properly. There's a gent livin' not a hundred miles from Pall-Mall, as
the noospapers says, as had a favourite Scotch terrier, not worth more
nor half-a-crown to any one but hisself, but highly wallerable to him,
'cos it wos a favourite. Vell, the dog is lost. A pal of mine gets
hold on it, and the gent soon offers a reward for its recovery. This
don't bring it back quite so soon as he expects, 'cos he don't offer
enough; so he goes to an agent, Mr. Simpkins, in the Edger-road, and
Mr. Simpkins says to him--says he, 'How are you, sir? I expected you
some days ago. You've com'd about that ere Scotch terrier. You've got
a wallable greyhound, I understand. A man told me he'd have that afore
long.' Seein' the gent stare, Mr. S. adds, 'Vel, I'll tell you wot you
must give for your dog. The party von't take less than six guineas. He
knows it ain't vorth six shillin', but it's a great favourite, and has
given him a precious sight o' trouble in gettin' it.' 'Give him
trouble!' cries the gent, angrily--'and what has it given me? I hope
to see the rascal hanged! I shall pay no such money.' 'Werry vell,'
replies Mr. Simpkins, coolly, 'then your dog'll be bled to death, as
the nobleman's wos, and thrown down a breathless carkis afore your

"You don't mean to say that such a horrid circumstance as that really
took place?" cried Thorneycroft, who was much interested in the

"Only t'other day, I assure you," replied Ginger.

"I'd shoot the ruffian who treated a dog of mine so, if I caught him!"
cried Mr. Thorneycroft, indignantly.

"And sarve him right, too," said Ginger. "I discourages all cruelty to
hanimals. But don't interrupt me again. Arter a bit more chafferin'
vith Mr. Simphins, the gent offers three pound for his dog, and then
goes avay; Next day he reads a report i' the Times noospaper that a
man has been taken up for dog-stealin', and that a lot o' dogs is shut
up in the green-yard behind the police-office in Bow-street So he goes
there in search o' his favourite, and sure enough he finds it, but the
inspector von't give it up to him, 'cos the superintendent is out o'
the vay."

"Shameful!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft.

"Shameful, indeed, sir," echoed Ginger, laughing. "Thinkin' his dog
safe enough in the hands o' the police, the gent sleeps soundly that
night, but ven he goes back next mornin' he finds it has disappeared.
The green-yard has been broken into overnight, and all the dogs stolen
from it."

"Under the noses of the police," cried Thorneycroft.

"Under their werry noses," replied Ginger. "But now comes the cream o'
the jest. You shall hear wot the beak says to him ven the gent craves
his assistance. 'I can't interfere in the matter,' says he, a-bendin'
of his brows in a majestic manner. 'Parties don't ought to come here
vith complaints of vhich I can't take notice. This place ain't an
advertisin' office, and I shan't suffer it to be made von. I von't
listen to statements affectin' the characters of absent parties.'
Statements affectin' our characters,--do you tvig that, sir?"

"I do, indeed," said Thorneycroft, sighing; "and I am sorry to think
such a remark should have dropped from the bench."

"You're right to say it dropped from it, sir," laughed Ginger.

"I told you the beaks vos our best friends; they alvays takes our
parts. Ven the gent urges that it was a subject of ser'ous importance
to dog-owners, the magistrit angrily interrupts him, sayin'--'Then let
there be a meetin' of dog-owners to discuss their grievances. Don't
come to me. I can't help you.' And he vouldn't if he could, 'cos he's
the dog-fancier's friend."

"It looks like it, I must own," replied Thorneycroft. "Such
reprehensible indifference gives encouragement to people of your
profession. Government itself is to blame. As all persons who keep
dogs pay a tax for them, their property ought to be protected."

"I'm quite satisfied vith the present state of the law," said Ginger;
"here's the vorthy beak! I'll drink his health for a second time."

"Halloa! wot's that?" cried the Tinker; "I thought I heerd a noise."

"So did I," rejoined the Sandman; "a strange sort o' rumblin' sound

"There it goes again!" cried Ginger; "wot an awful din!"

"Now it's underneath," said Mr. Thorneycroft, turning pale, and
trembling. "It sounds as if some hidden machinery were at work."

The noise, which up to this moment had borne an indistinct resemblance
to the creaking of wheels and pulleys, now increased to a violent
clatter, while the house was shaken as if by the explosion of a mine
beneath it.

At the same time, the occupants of the chairs received a sharp
electrical shock, that agitated every limb, and caused Mr.
Thorneycroft to let fall his pistol, which went off as it reached the
ground. At the same time, the Sandman dropped his goblet, and the
Tinker relinquished his grasp of the cutlass. Before they could
recover from the shock, all three were caught by stout wooden hooks,
which, detaching themselves from the back of the chairs, pinioned
their arms, while their legs were restrained by fetters, which sprang
from the ground and clasped round their ankles. Thus fixed, they
struggled vainly to get free. The chairs seemed nailed to the ground,
so that all efforts to move them proved futile.

But the worst was to come. From the holes in the ceiling already
alluded to, descended three heavy bell-shaped helmets, fashioned like
those worn by divers at the bottom of the sea, and having round
eyelet-holes of glass. It was evident, from the manner of their
descent, that these helmets must drop on the heads of the sitters--a
conviction that filled them with inexpressible terror. They shouted,
and swore frightfully; but their vociferations availed them nothing.
Down came the helmets, and the same moment the monkey which had been
seen by Reeks issued from a cupboard at the top of a cabinet, and
grinned and gibbered at them.

Down came the first helmet, and covered the Tinker to the shoulders.
His appearance was at once ludicrous and terrible, and his roaring
within the casque sounded like the bellowing of a baited bull.

Down came the second helmet, though rather more slowly, and the
Sandman was eclipsed in the same manner as the Tinker, and roared as

In both these instances the helmets had dropped without guidance, but
in the case of Mr. Thorneycroft, a hand, thrust out of the hole in the
ceiling, held the helmet suspended over his head, like the sword of
Damocles. While the poor iron-merchant momentarily expected the same
doom as his companions, his attention was attracted towards the
monkey, which, clinging with one hand to the side of the cabinet,
extended the other skinny arm towards him, and exclaimed--"Will you
swear to go hence if you are spared?"

"No, I will not," replied the iron-merchant. He had scarcely spoken,
when the helmet fell with a jerk, and extinguished him like the

Ginger alone remained. During the whole of this strange scene, he had
stood with the bottle in hand, transfixed with terror and
astonishment, and wholly unable to move or cry out. A climax was put
to his fright, by the descent of the three chairs, with their
occupants, through the floor into a vault beneath; and as the helmets
were whisked up again to the ceiling, and the trap-doors closed upon
the chairs, he dropped the bottle, and fell with his face upon the
table. He was, however, soon roused by a pull at his hair, while a
shrill voice called him by his name.

"Who is it?" groaned the dog-fancier.

"Look up!" cried the speaker, again plucking his hair.

Ginger complied, and beheld the monkey seated beside him. "Vy, it
can't be, surely," he cried. "And yet I could almost svear it was Old

"You're near the mark," replied the other, with a shrill laugh. "It is
your venerable friend."

"Vot the deuce are you doing here, and in this dress, or rayther
undress?" inquired Ginger. "Ven I see you this mornin', you wos in the
serwixe of Mr. Loftus."

"I've got a new master since then," replied the dwarf.

"I'm sorry to hear it," said Ginger, shaking his head. "You hav'n't
sold yourself, like Doctor Forster---"

"Faustus, my dear Ginger--not Forster," corrected Old Parr. "No, no,
I've made a bargain. And to be plain with you, I've no desire to
remain long in my present master's service."

"I don't like to ask the question too directly, wenerable," said
Ginger, in a deprecatory tone--"but is your master--hem!--is he--

"The devil, you would say," supplied Old Parr. "Between ourselves, I'm
afraid there's no denying it."

"La! wot a horrible idea!" exclaimed Ginger with a shudder; "it makes
the flesh creep on one's bones. Then we're in your master's power?"

"Very like it," replied Old Parr.

"And there ain't no chance o' deliverance?"

"None that occurs to me."

"Oh Lord! oh Lord!" groaned Ginger; "I'll repent. I'll become a
reformed character. I'll never steal dogs no more."

"In that case, there may be some chance for you," said Old Parr. "I
think I could help you to escape. Come with me, and I'll try and get
you out."

"But wot is to become of the others?" demanded Ginger.

"Oh, leave them to their fate," replied Old Parr.

"No, that'll never do," cried Ginger. "Ve're all in the same boat, and
must row out together the best vay ve can. I tell you wot it is,
wenerable," he added, seizing him by the throat--"your master may be
the devil, but you're mortal; and if you don't help me to deliver my
companions, I'll squeege your windpipe for you."

"That's not the way to induce me to help you," said Old Parr, twisting
himself like an eel out of the other's grip. "Now get out, if you

"Don't be angry," cried Ginger, seeing the mistake he had committed,
and trying to conciliate him; "I only meant to frighten you a bit. Can
you tell me if Mr. Auriol Darcy is here?"

"Yes, he is, and a close prisoner," replied Old Parr.

"And the girl--Miss Ebber, wot of her?"

"I can't say," rejoined Old Parr. "I can only speak to the living."

"Then she's dead!" cried Ginger, with a look of horror.

"That's a secret," replied the dwarf, mysteriously; "and I'm bound by
a terrible oath not to disclose it."

"I'll have it out of you notvithstandin'," muttered Ginger. "I vish
you would lend me a knock on the head, old feller. I can't help
thinkin' I've got a terrible fit o' the nightmare."

"Let this waken you, then," said Old Parr, giving him a sound buffet
on the ear.

"Holloa, wenerable! not so hard!" cried Ginger.

"Ha! ha! ha!" screamed the dwarf. "You know what you're about now."

"Not exactly," said Ginger. "I vish I wos fairly out o' this cursed

"You shouldn't have ventured into the lion's den," said Old Parr, in a
taunting tone. "But come with me, and perhaps I may be able to do
something towards your liberation."

So saying, he drew aside the tapestry, and opened a panel behind it,
through which he passed, and beckoned Ginger to follow him. Taking a
pistol from his pocket, the latter complied.


Before the chair, in which Mr. Thorneycroft was fixed, reached the
ground terror had taken away his senses. A bottle of salts, placed to
his nose, revived him after a time; but he had nearly relapsed into
insensibility on seeing two strange figures, in hideous masks and
sable cloaks, standing on either side of him, while at a little
distance was a third, who carried a strangely fashioned lantern. He
looked round for his companions in misfortune, but, though the chairs
were there, they were unoccupied.

The masked attendants paid no attention to the iron-merchant's cries
and entreaties; but as soon as they thought him able to move, they
touched a spring, which freed his arms and legs from their bondage,
and raising him, dragged him out of the vault, and along a narrow
passage, till they came to a large sepulchral-looking chamber, cased
with black marble, in the midst of which, on a velvet fauteuil of the
same hue as the walls, sat Cyprian Rougemont. It was, in fact, the
chamber where Ebba had been subject to her terrible trial.

Bewildered with terror, the poor iron-merchant threw himself at the
feet of Rougemont, who, eyeing him with a look of malignant triumph,

"You have come to seek your daughter. Behold her!"

And at the words, the large black curtains at the farther end of the
room were suddenly withdrawn, and discovered the figure of Ebba
Thorneycroft standing at the foot of the marble staircase. Her
features were as pale as death; her limbs rigid and motionless; but
her eyes blazed with preternatural light. On beholding her, Mr.
Thorneycroft uttered a loud cry, and, springing to his feet would have
rushed towards her, but he was held back by the two masked attendants,
who seized each arm, and detained him by main force.

"Ebba?" he cried--"Ebba!"

But she appeared wholly insensible to his cries, and remained in the
same attitude, with her eyes turned away from him.

"What ails her?" cried the agonized father. "Ebba! Ebba!"

"Call louder," said Rougemont, with a jeering laugh.

"Do you not know me? do you not hear me?" shrieked Mr. Thorneycroft.

Still the figure remained immovable.

"I told you you should see her," replied Rougemont, in a taunting
tone; "but she is beyond your reach."

"Not so, not so!" cried Thorneycroft. "Come to me, Ebba!--come to your
father. Oh, Heaven! she hears me not! she heeds me not! Her senses are

"She is fast bound by a spell," said Rougemont. "Take a last look at
her. You will see her no more."

And, stretching out his hand, the curtains slowly descended, and
shrouded the figure from view.

Thorneycroft groaned aloud.

"Are you not content?" cried Rougemont. "Will you depart in peace, and
swear never to come here more? If so, I will liberate you and your

"So far from complying with your request, I swear never to rest till I
have rescued my child from you, accursed being!" cried Thorneycroft

"You have sealed your doom, then," replied Rougemont. "But before you
are yourself immured, you shall see how Auriol Darcy is circumstanced.
Bring him along."

And, followed by the attendants, who dragged Mr. Thorneycroft after
him, he plunged into an opening on the right. A few steps brought him
to the entrance of the cell. Touching the heavy iron door, it
instantly swung open, and disclosed Auriol chained to a stone at the
farther corner of the narrow chamber.

Not a word was spoken for some minutes, but the captives regarded each
other piteously. "Oh, Mr. Thorneycroft," cried Auriol, at length, "I
beseech you forgive me. I have destroyed your daughter."

"You!" exclaimed the iron-merchant, in astonishment.

"It is true," said Rougemont.

"I would have saved her if it had been possible!" cried Auriol. "I
warned her that to love me would be fatal to her. I told her I was
linked to an inexorable destiny, which would involve her in its
meshes--but in vain."

"Oh!" ejaculated Thorneycroft.

"You see you ought to blame him, not me," said Rougemont, with a
derisive laugh.

"I would have given my life, my soul, to preserve her, had it been
possible!" cried Auriol.

"Horrors crowd so thick upon me that my brain reels," cried
Thorneycroft "Merciless wretch!" he added, to Rougemont, "fiend--
whatever you are, complete your work of ruin by my destruction. I have
nothing left to tie me to life."

"I would have the miserable live," said Rougemont, with a diabolical
laugh. "It is only the happy I seek to destroy. But you have to thank
your own obstinacy for your present distress. Bid a lasting farewell
to Auriol. You will see him no more."

"Hold!" exclaimed Auriol. "A word before we part."

"Ay, hold!" echoed a loud and imperious voice, from the depths of the

"Ha!--who speaks?" demanded Rougemont, a shade passing over his

"I, Gerard Paston!" exclaimed Reeks, stepping forward. The crape was
gone from his brow, and in its place was seen the handsome and
resolute features of a man of middle life. He held a pistol in either

"Is it you, Gerard Paston?" cried Auriol, regarding him; "the brother
of Clara, my second victim!"

"It is," replied the other. "Your deliverance is at hand, Auriol."

"And you have dared to penetrate here, Gerard?" cried Rougemont,
stamping the ground with rage. "Recollect, you are bound to me by the
same ties as Auriol, and you shall share his fate."

"I am not intimidated by threats," replied Paston, with a scornful
laugh. "You have employed your arts too long. Deliver up Auriol and
this gentleman at once, or---" And he levelled the pistols at him.

"Fire!" cried Rougemont, drawing himself up to his towering height.
"No earthly bullets can injure me."

"Ve'll try that!" cried Ginger, coming up at the moment behind Paston.

And he discharged a pistol, with a deliberate aim, at the breast of
Rougemont. The latter remained erect, and apparently uninjured.

"You see how ineffectual your weapons are," said Rougemont, with a
derisive laugh.

"It must be the devil!" cried Ginger running off.

"I will try mine," said Paston.

But before he could draw the triggers, the pistols were wrested from
his grasp by the two attendants, who had quitted Thorneycroft, and
stolen upon him unperceived, and who next pinioned his arms.


So bewildered was the poor iron-merchant by the strange and terrible
events that had befallen him, that, though released by the two masked
attendants, who left him, as before related, to seize Gerard Paston,
he felt utterly incapable of exertion, and would probably have made no
effort to regain his freedom, if his coat had not been vigorously
plucked behind, while a low voice urged him to fly. Glancing in the
direction of the friendly speaker, he could just discern a diminutive
object standing within the entrance of a side-passage, and reared up
against the wall so as to be out of sight of Rougemont and his
attendants. It was the monkey--or rather Old Parr--who, continuing to
tug violently at his coat, at last succeeded in drawing him backwards
into the passage, and then grasping his hand tightly, hurried him
along it. The passage was wholly unlighted, but Mr. Thorneycroft could
perceive that it was exceedingly circuitous, and winded round like a

"Where are you taking me?" he inquired, attempting to stop.

"Ask no questions," rejoined the dwarf, pulling him along. "Do you
want to be captured, and shut up in a cell for the rest of your life?"

"Certainly not," replied Thorneycroft, accelerating his movements; "I
hope there's no chance of it."

"There's every chance of it," rejoined Old Parr. "If you're taken,
you'll share Auriol's fate."

"Oh, Lord! I hope not," groaned the iron-merchant. "I declare, you
frighten me so much that you take away all power of movement. I shall
drop in a minute."

"Come along, I say," screamed the dwarf. "I hear them close behind

And as he spoke, shouts, and the noise of rapidly approaching
footsteps, resounded along the passage.

"I can't stir another step," gasped the iron-merchant. "I'm completely
done. Better yield at once."

"What, without a struggle?" cried the dwarf, tauntingly. "Think of
your daughter, and let the thought of her nerve your heart. She is
lost for ever, if you don't get out of this accursed place."

"She is lost for ever as it is," cried the iron-merchant despairingly.

"No--she may yet be saved," rejoined the dwarf. "Come on--come one--
they are close behind us."

And it was evident, from the increased clamour, that their pursuers
were upon them.

Roused by the imminence of the danger, and by the hope of rescuing his
daughter, Mr. Thorneycroft exerted all his energies, and sprang
forward. A little farther on, they were stopped by a door. It was
closed; and venting his disappointment in a scream, the dwarf searched
for the handle, but could not find it.

"We are entrapped--we shall be caught," he cried, "and then woe to
both of us. Fool that I was to attempt your preservation. Better I had
left you to rot in a dungeon than have incurred Rougemont's

The iron-merchant replied by a groan.

"It's all over with me," he said. "I give it up--I'll die here!"

"No--we are saved," cried the dwarf, as the light, now flashing
strongly upon the door, revealed a small iron button within it,--

As he spoke, he pressed against the button, which moved a spring, and
the door flew open. Just as they passed through it, the two masked
attendants came in sight. The dwarf instantly shut the door, and
finding a bolt on the side next him, shot it into the socket. Scarcely
had he accomplished this, when the pursuers came up, and dashed
themselves against the door; but finding it bolted, presently ceased
their efforts, and apparently withdrew.

"They are gone by some other way to intercept us," cried Old Parr, who
had paused for a moment to listen; "come on, Mr. Thorneycroft."

"I'll try," replied the iron-merchant, with a subdued groan, "but I'm
completely spent. Oh, that I ever ventured into this place!"

"It's too late to think of that now; besides, you came here to rescue
your daughter," rejoined Old Parr. "Take care and keep near me. I
wonder where this passage leads to?"

"Don't you know?" inquired the iron-merchant.

"Not in the least," returned the dwarf. "This is the first time I've
been here--and it shall be the last, if I'm allowed any choice in the

"You haven't told me how you came here at all," observed Thorneycroft.

"I hardly know myself," replied the dwarf; "but I find it more
difficult to get out than I did to get in. How this passage twists
about. I declare we seem to be returning to the point we started

"I think we are turning round ourselves," cried Thorneycroft, in an
agony of fright. "My head is going. Oh dear! oh dear!"

"Why it does seem very strange, I must say," remarked the dwarf,
coming to a halt. "I could almost fancy that the solid stone walls
were moving around us."

"They are moving," cried Thorneycroft, stretching out his hand. "I
feel 'em. Lord have mercy upon us, and deliver us from the power of
the Evil One!"

"The place seems on fire," cried the dwarf. "A thick smoke fills the
passage. Don't you perceive it, Mr. Thorneycroft?"

"Don't I!--to be sure I do," cried the iron-merchant, coughing and
sneezing. "I feel as if I were in a room with a smoky chimney, and no
window open. Oh!--oh!--I'm choking!"

"Don't mind it," cried the dwarf, who seemed quite at his ease. "We
shall soon be out of the smoke."

"I can't stand it," cried Mr. Thorneycroft; "I shall die. Oh! poah--

"Come on, I tell you--you'll get some fresh air in a minute," rejoined
Old Parr. "Halloa! how's this? No outlet. We're come to a dead stop."

"Dead stop, indeed!" echoed the iron-merchant. "We've come to that
long ago. But what new difficulty has arisen?"

"Merely that the road's blocked up by a solid wall--that's all,"
replied Old Parr.

"Blocked up!" exclaimed Thorneycroft. "Then we're entombed alive."

"I am," said the dwarf, with affected nonchalance. "As to you, you've
the comfort of knowing it'll soon be over with you. But for me,
nothing can harm me."

"Don't be too sure of that," cried a voice above them.

"Did you speak, Mr. Thorneycroft?" asked the dwarf.

"N-o-o--not I," gasped the iron-merchant. "I'm suffocating--help to
drag me out."

"Get out if you can," cried the voice that had just spoken.

"It's Rougemont himself," cried the dwarf, in alarm. "Then there's no

"None whatever, rascal," replied the unseen speaker. "I want you. I
have more work for you to do."

"I won't leave Mr. Thorneycroft," cried the dwarf, resolutely. "I've
promised to preserve him, and I'll keep my word."

"Fool!" cried the other. "You must obey when I command."

And as the words were uttered, a hand was thrust down from above,
which, grasping the dwarf by the nape of the neck, drew him upwards.

"Lay hold of me, Mr. Thorneycroft," screamed Old Parr. "I'm going up
again--lay hold of me--pull me down."

Well-nigh stifled by the thickening and pungent vapour, the poor iron-
merchant found compliance impossible. Before he could reach the dwarf,
the little fellow was carried off. Left to himself, Mr. Thorneycroft
staggered along the passage, expecting every moment to drop, until at
length a current of fresh air blew in his face, and enabled him to
breathe more freely. Some what revived, he went on, but with great
deliberation, and it was well he did so, for he suddenly arrived at
the brink of a pit about eight feet in depth, into which, if he had
approached it incautiously, he must infallibly have stumbled, and in
all probability have broken his neck. This pit evidently communicated
with a lower range of chambers, as was shown by a brazen lamp burning
under an archway. A ladder was planted at one side, and by this Mr.
Thorneycroft descended, but scarcely had he set foot on the ground,
than he felt himself rudely grasped by a man who stepped from under
the archway. The next moment, however, he was released, while the
familiar voice of the Tinker exclaimed.

"Vy, bless my 'art, if it ain't Mister Thorneycroft."

"Yes, it's me, certainly, Mr. Tinker," replied the iron-merchant.
"Who's that you've got with you?"

"Vy, who should it be but the Sandman," rejoined the other, gruffly.
"Ve've set ourselves free at last, and have made some nice diskiveries
into the bargin."

"Yes, ve've found it all out, added the Tinker.

"What have you discovered--what have you found out?" cried the iron-
merchant, breathlessly. "Have you found my daughter? Where is she?
Take me to her."

"Not so fast, old gent, not so fast," rejoined the Tinker. "Ye ain't
sure as 'ow ve've found your darter, but ve've catched a peep of a
nice young 'ooman."

"Oh! it must be her no doubt of it," cried the iron-merchant. "Where
is she? Take me to her without a moment's delay."

"But ve can't get to her, I tell 'ee," replied the Tinker, "Ye knows
the place 'vere she's a-shut up,--that's all."

"Take me to it," cried Mr. Thorneycroft, eagerly.

"Yell, if you must go, step this vay, then," rejoined the Tinker,
proceeding towards the archway. "Halloa, Sandy, did you shut the door
arter you?"

"Not I," replied the other; "open it."

"Easily said," rejoined the Tinker, "but not quevite so easily done.
Vy, zounds, it's shut of itself and bolted itself on t'other side!"

"Someone must have followed you," groaned Thorneycroft. "We're watched
on all sides."

"Ay, and from above, too," cried the Sandman. "Look up there!" he
added, in accents of alarm.

"What's the matter? What new danger is at hand?" inquired the iron-

"Look up, I say," cried the Sandman. "Don't ye see, Tinker?"

"Ay, ay, I see," replied the other. "The roof's a-comin' in upon us.
Let's get out o' this as fast as ve can." And he kicked and pushed
against the door, but all his efforts were unavailing to burst it

At the same time the Sandman rushed towards the ladder, but before he
could mount it all egress by that means was cut off. An immense iron
cover worked in a groove was pushed by some unseen machinery over the
top of the pit, and enclosed them in it.


For several hours deep sleep, occasioned by some potent medicaments,
had bound up the senses of Auriol. On awaking, he found himself within
a cell, the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of which were of solid
stone masonry. In the midst of this chamber, and supporting the
ponderous roof, stood a massive granite pillar, the capital of which
was grotesquely ornamented with death's-heads and crossbones, and
against this pillar leaned Auriol, with his left arm chained by heavy
links of iron to a ring in the adjoining wall. Beside him stood a
pitcher of water, and near him lay an antique-looking book, bound in
black vellum. The dungeon in which he was confined was circular in
form, with a coved roof, sustained by the pillar before mentioned, and
was approached by a steep flight of steps rising from a doorway,
placed some six feet below the level of the chamber, and surmounted by
a pointed arch. A stream of light, descending from a narrow aperture
in the roof, fell upon his wasted and haggard features. His dark brown
hair hung about his face in elf-locks, his beard was untrimmed, and a
fixed and stony glare like that of insanity sat in his eye. He was
seated on the ground--neither bench nor stool being allowed him--with
his hand supporting his chin. His gaze was fixed upon vacancy--if that
can be called vacancy, which to him was filled with vivid images. His
garb was not that of modern times, but consisted of a doublet and hose
of rich material, wrought in the fashion of Elizabeth's days.

After remaining for some time in this musing attitude, Auriol opened
the old tome before him, and began to turn over its leaves. It was
full of magical disquisitions and mysterious characters, and he found
inscribed on one of its earlier pages a name which instantly riveted
his attention. Having vainly sought some explanation of this name in
the after contents of the book, he laid it aside, and became lost in
meditation. His reverie ended, he heaved a deep sigh, and turned again
to the open volume lying before him, and in doing so his eye rested
for the first time on his habiliments. On beholding them he started,
and held out his arm to examine the sleeve more narrowly. Satisfied
that he was not deceived, he arose and examined himself from head to
foot. He found himself, as has been stated, attired in the garb of a
gentleman of Elizabeth's time.

"What can this mean?" he cried. "Have I endured a long and troubled
dream, during which I have fancied myself living through more than two
centuries? Oh, Heaven, that it may be so! Oh, that the fearful crimes
I suppose I have committed have only been enacted in a dream! Oh, that
my victims are imaginary! Oh, that Ebba should only prove a lovely
phantom of the night! And yet, I could almost wish the rest were
real--so that she might exist. I cannot bear to think that she is
nothing more than a vision, But it must be so--I have been dreaming--
and what a dream it has been!--what strange glimpses it has afforded
me into futurity! Methought I lived in the reigns of many sovereigns--
beheld one of them carried to the block--saw revolutions convulse the
kingdom--old dynasties shaken down, and new ones spring up. Fashions
seem to me to have so changed, that I had clean forgotten the old
ones; while my fellow-men scarcely appeared the same as heretofore.
Can I be the same myself? Is this the dress I once wore? Let me seek
for some proof."

And thrusting his hand into his doublet, he drew forth some tablets,
and hastily examined them. They bore his name, and contained some
writing, and he exclaimed aloud with joy, "This is proof enough--I
have been dreaming all this while."

"The scheme works to a miracle," muttered a personage stationed at the
foot of the steps springing from the doorway, and who, though
concealed from view himself, was watching the prisoner with a
malignant and exulting gaze.

"And yet, why am I here?" pursued Auriol, looking around. "Ah! I see
how it is," he added, with a shudder; "I have been mad--perhaps am mad
still. That will account for the strange delusion under which I have

"I will act upon that hint," muttered the listener.

"Of what use is memory," continued Auriol, musingly, "if things that
are not, seem as if they were? If joys and sorrows which we have never
endured are stamped upon the brain--if visions of scenes, and faces
and events which we have never witnessed, never known, haunt us, as if
they had once been familiar? But I am mad--mad!"

The listener laughed to himself.

"How else, if I were not mad, could I have believed that I had
swallowed the fabled elixir vitae? And yet, is it a fable? for I am
puzzled still. Methinks I am old--old--old--though I feel young, and
look young. All this is madness. Yet how clear and distinct it seems!
I can call to mind events in Charles the Second's time. Ha!--who told
me of Charles the Second? How know I there was such a king? The
reigning sovereign should be James, and yet I fancy it is George the
Fourth. Oh! I am mad--clean mad!"

There was another pause, during which the listener indulged in a
suppressed fit of laughter. "Would I could look forth from this
dungeon," pursued Auriol, again breaking silence, "and satisfy myself
of the truth or falsehood of my doubts by a view of the external
world, for I am so perplexed in mind, that if I were not distracted
already, they would be enough to drive me so. What dismal, terrible
fancies have possessed me, and weigh upon me still--the compact with

"Now it comes," cried the listener.

"Oh, that I could shake off the conviction that this were not so--that
my soul, though heavily laden, might still be saved! Oh, that I dared
to hope this!"

"I must interrupt him if he pursues this strain," said the listener.

"Whether my crimes are real or imaginary--whether I snatched the cup
of immortality from my grandsire's dying lips--whether I signed a
compact with the Fiend, and delivered him a victim on each tenth
year--I cannot now know; but if it is so, I deeply, deeply regret
them, and would expiate my offences by a life of penance."

At this moment Rougemont, attired in a dress similar to that of the
prisoner, marched up the steps, and cried, "What ho, Auriol!--Auriol

"Who speaks?" demanded Auriol "Ah! is it you, Fiend?"

"What, you are still in your old fancies," rejoined Rougemont. "I
thought the draught I gave you last night would have amended you."

"Tell me who and what I am," cried Auriol, stupefied with
astonishment; "in what age I am living; and whether I am in my right
mind or not?"

"For the first, you are called Auriol Darcy," replied Rougemont; "for
the second, you are living in the reign of his most Catholic Majesty
James I of England, and VIth of Scotland; and for the third, I trust
you will soon recover your reason."

"Amazement!" cried Auriol, striking his brow with his clenched hand.
"Then I am mad."

"It's plain your reason is returning, since you are conscious of your
condition," replied Rougemont; "but calm yourself, you have been
subject to raging frenzies."

"And I have been shut up here for safety?" demanded Auriol.

"Precisely," observed the other. "And you are---"

"Your keeper," replied Rougemont.

"My God! what a brain mine must be!" cried Auriol. "Answer me one
question--Is there such a person as Ebba Thorneycroft?"

"You have often raved about her," replied Rougemont. "But she is a
mere creature of the imagination."

Auriol groaned, and sank against the wall.

"Since you have become so reasonable, you shall again go forth into
the world," said Rougemont; "but the first essay must be made at
night, for fear of attracting observation. I will come to you again a
few hours hence. Farewell, for the present."

And casting a sinister glance at his captive, he turned upon his heel,
descended the steps, and quitted the cell.


Night came, and the cell grew profoundly dark. Auriol became impatient
for the appearance of his keeper, but hour after hour passed and he
did not arrive. Worn out, at length, with doubt and bewildering
speculations, the miserable captive was beset with the desire to put
an end to his torments by suicide, and he determined to execute his
fell purpose without delay. An evil chance seemed also to befriend
him, for scarcely was the idea formed, than his foot encountered
something on the ground, the rattling of which attracted his
attention, and stooping to take it up, he grasped the bare blade of a

"This will, at all events, solve my doubts," he cried aloud. "I will
sheathe this weapon in my heart, and, if I am mortal, my woes will be

As he spoke, be placed the point to his breast with the full intent to
strike, but before he could inflict the slightest wound, his arm was
forcibly arrested.

"Would you destroy yourself, madman?" roared a voice. "I thought your
violence was abated, and that you might go forth in safety. But I find
you are worse than ever."

Auriol uttered a groan and let the knife fall to the ground. The
newcomer kicked it to a distance with his foot.

"You shall be removed to another chamber," he pursued, "where you can
be more strictly watched."

"Take me forth oh! take me forth," cried Auriol. "It was a mere
impulse of desperation, which I now repent."

"I dare not trust you. You will commit some act of insane fury, for
which I myself shall have to bear the blame. When I yielded to your
entreaties on a former occasion, and took you forth, I narrowly
prevented you from doing all we met a mischief."

"I have no recollection of any such circumstance," returned Auriol,
mournfully. "But it may be true, nevertheless. And if so, it only
proves the lamentable condition to which I am reduced memory and
reason gone!"

"Ay, both gone," cried the other, with an irrepressible chuckle. "Ha!"
exclaimed Auriol, starring. "I am not so mad but I recognize in you
the Evil Being who tempted me. I am not so oblivious as to forget our
terrible interviews."

"What, you are in your lunes again!" cried Rougemont fiercely. "Nay,
then I must call my assistants, and bin you."

"Let me be--let me be!" implored Auriol, "and I will offend you no
more. Whatever thoughts may arise within me, I will not give utterance
to them. Only take me forth."

"I came for that purpose," said Rougemont; "but I repeat, I dare not.
You are not sufficiently master of yourself."

"Try me," said Auriol.

"Well," rejoined the other, "I will see what I can do to calm you."

So saying, he disappeared for a few moments, and then returning with a
torch, placed it on the ground, and producing a phial, handed it to
the captive.

"Drink!" he said.

Without a moment's hesitation Auriol complied.

"It seems to me rather a stimulant than a soothing potion," he
remarked, after emptying the phial.

"You are in no condition to judge," rejoined the other.

And he proceeded to unfasten Auriol's chain.

"Now then, come with me," he said, "and do not make any attempt at
evasion, or you will rue it."

Like one in a dream, Auriol followed his conductor down the flight of
steps leading from the dungeon, and along a narrow passage. As he
proceeded, he thought he heard stealthy footsteps behind him; but he
never turned his head, to see whether he was really followed. In this
way they reached a short steep staircase, and, mounting it, entered a
vault, in which Rougemont paused, and placed the torch he had brought
with him upon the floor. Its lurid glimmer partially illumined the
chamber, and showed that it was built of stone. Rude benches of
antique form were set about the vault, and motioning Auriol to be
seated upon one of them, Rougemont sounded a silver whistle. The
summons was shortly afterwards answered by the dwarf, in whose attire
a new change had taken place. He was now clothed in a jerkin of grey
serge, fashioned like the garments worn by the common people in
Elizabeth's reign, and wore a trencher cap on his head. Auriol watched
him as he timidly advanced towards Rougemont, and had an indistinct
recollection of having seen him before; but could not call to mind how
or where.

"Is your master a-bed?" demanded Rougemont.

"A-bed! Good lack, sir!" exclaimed the dwarf, "little of sleep; knows
Doctor Lamb. He will toil at the furnace till the stars have set."

"Doctor Lamb!" repeated Auriol. "Surely I have heard that name

"Very likely," replied Rougemont, "for it is the name borne by your
nearest kinsman."

"How is the poor young gentleman?" asked the dwarf, glancing
commiseratingly at Auriol. "My master often makes inquiries after his
grandson, and grieves that the state of his mind should render it
necessary to confine him."

"His grandson! I--Doctor Lamb's grandson!" cried Auriol.

"In sooth are you, young sir," returned the dwarf. "Were you in your
reason, you would be aware that my master's name is the same as your
own--Darcy--Reginald Darcy. He assumes the name of Doctor Lamb to
delude the multitude. He told you as much yourself, sweet sir, if your
poor wits would enable you to recollect it."

"Am I in a dream, good fellow, tell me that?" cried Auriol, lost in

"Alack, no, sir," replied the dwarf; "to my thinking, you are wide
awake. But you know, sir," he added, touching his forehead, "you have
been a little wrong here, and your memory and reason are not of the

"Where does my grandsire dwell?" asked Auriol.

"Why here, sir," replied the dwarf; "and for the matter of locality,
the house is situated on the south end of London-bridge."

"On the bridge--did you say on the bridge, friend?" cried Auriol.

"Ay, on the bridge--where else should it be? You would not have your
grandsire live under the river?" rejoined the dwarf; "though, for
ought I know, some of these vaults may go under it. They are damp

Auriol was lost in reflection, and did not observe a sign that passed
between the dwarf and Rougemont.

"Will it disturb Doctor Lamb if his grandson goes up to him?" said the
latter, after a brief pause.

"My master does not like to be interrupted in his operations, as you
know, sir," replied the dwarf, "and seldom suffers anyone, except
myself, to enter his laboratory; but I will make so bold as to
introduce Master Auriol, if he desires it."

"You will confer the greatest favour on me by doing so," cried Auriol,

"Sit down--sit down!" said Rougemont, authoritatively. "You cannot go
up till the doctor has been apprised. Remain here, while Flapdragon
and I ascertain his wishes." So saying, he quitted the chamber by a
farther outlet with the dwarf.

During the short time that Auriol was left alone, he found it vain to
attempt to settle his thoughts, or to convince himself that he was not
labouring under some strange delusion. He was aroused at length by the
dwarf, who returned alone.

"Your grandsire will see you," said the mannikin.

"One word before we go," cried Auriol, seizing his arm.

"Saints! how you frighten me!" exclaimed the dwarf. "You must keep
composed, or I dare not take you to my master."

"Pardon me," replied Auriol; "I meant not to alarm you. Where is the
person who brought me hither?"

"What, your keeper?" said the dwarf. "Oh, he is within call. He will
come to you anon. Now follow me."

And taking up the torch, he led the way out of the chamber. Mounting a
spiral staircase, apparently within a turret, they came to a door,
which being opened by Flapdragon, disclosed a scene that well-nigh
stupefied Auriol.

It was the laboratory precisely as he had seen it above two centuries
ago. The floor was strewn with alchemical implements--the table was
covered with mystic parchments inscribed with cabalistic characters--
the furnace stood in the corner--crucibles and cucurbites decorated
the chimney-board--the sphere and brazen lamp hung from the ceiling--
the skeletons grinned from behind the chimney-corner--all was there as
he had seen it before! There was also Doctor Lamb, in his loose gown
of sable silk, with a square black cap upon his venerable head, and
his snowy beard streaming to his girdle.

The old man's gaze was fixed upon a crucible placed upon the furnace,
and he was occupied in working the bellows. He moved his head as
Auriol entered the chamber, and the features became visible. It was a
face never to be forgotten.

"Come in, grandson," said the old man, kindly. "Come in, and close the
door after you. The draught affects the furnace--my Athanor, as we
adepts term it. So you are better, your keeper tells me--much better."

"Are you Indeed living?" cried Auriol, rushing wildly towards him, and
attempting to take his hand.

"Off--off!" cried the old man, drawing back as if alarmed. "You
disturb my operations. Keep him calm, Flapdragon, or take him hence.
He may do me a mischief."

"I have no such intention, sir," said Auriol; "indeed I have not. I
only wish to be assured that you are my aged relative."

"To be sure he is, young sir," interposed the dwarf. "Why should you
doubt it?"

"Oh! sir," cried Auriol, throwing himself at the old man's feet, "pity
me if I am mad; but offer me some explanation, which may tend to
restore me to my senses. My reason seems gone, yet I appear capable of
receiving impressions from external objects. I see you, and appear to
know you. I see this chamber--these alchemical implements--that
furnace--these different objects--and I appear to recognize them. Am I
deceived, or is this real?"

"You are not deceived, my son," replied the old man. "You have been in
this room before, and you have seen me before. It would be useless to
explain to you now how you have suffered from fever, and what visions
your delirium has produced. When you are perfectly restored, we will
talk the matter over."

And, as he said this, he began to blow the fire anew, and watched with
great apparent interest the changing colours of the liquid cucurbite
placed on the furnace.

Auriol looked at him earnestly, but could not catch another glance, so
intently was the old man occupied. At length he ventured to break the

"I should feel perfectly convinced, if I might look forth from that
window," he said.

"Convinced of what?" rejoined the old man, somewhat sharply.

"That I am what I seem," replied Auriol.

"Look forth, then," said the old man. "But do not disturb me by idle
talk. There is the rosy colour in the projection for which I have been
so long waiting."

Auriol then walked to the window and gazed through the tinted panes.
It was very dark, and objects could only be imperfectly distinguished.
Still he fancied he could detect the gleam of the river beneath him,
and what seemed a long line of houses on the bridge. He also fancied
he discerned other buildings, with the high roofs, the gables, and the
other architectural peculiarities of the structures of Elizabeth's
time. He persuaded himself, also, that he could distinguish through
the gloom the venerable Gothic pile of Saint Paul's Cathedral on the
other side of the water, and, as if to satisfy him that he was right,
a deep solemn bell tolled forth the hour of two. After a while he
returned from the window, and said to his supposed grandsire, "I am
satisfied. I have lived centuries in a few nights."


IT was about two o'clock, on a charming spring day, that a stout
middle-aged man, accompanied by a young person of extraordinary
beauty, took up his station in front of Langham Church. Just as the
clock struck the hour, a young man issued at a quick pace from a
cross-street, and came upon the couple before he was aware of it. He
was evidently greatly embarrassed, and would have beaten a retreat,
but that was impossible. His embarrassment was in some degree shared
by the young lady; she blushed deeply, but could not conceal her
satisfaction at the encounter. The elder individual, who did not
appear to notice the confusion of either party, immediately extended
his hand to the young man, and exclaimed:

"What! Mr. Darcy, is it you? Why, we thought we had lost you, sir!
What took you off so suddenly? We have been expecting you these four
days, and were now walking about to try and find you. My daughter has
been, terrible uneasy. Haven't you, Ebba?"

The young lady made no answer to this appeal, but east down her eyes.

"It was my intention to call, and give you an explanation of my
strange conduct, today," replied Auriol. "I hope you received my
letter, stating that my sudden departure was unavoidable."

"To be sure; and I also received the valuable snuff-box you were so
good as to send me," replied Mr. Thorneycroft. "But you neglected to
tell me how to acknowledge the gift."

"I could not give an address at the moment," said Auriol.

"Well, I am glad to find you have got the use of your arm again,"
observed the iron-merchant; "but I can't say you look so well as when
you left us. You seem paler--eh? what do you think, Ebba?"

"Mr. Darcy looks as if he were suffering from mental anxiety rather
than from bodily ailment," she replied, timidly..

"I am so," replied Auriol, regarding her fixedly. "A very disastrous
circumstance has happened to me. But answer me one question: has the
mysterious person in the black cloak troubled you again?"

"What mysterious person?" demanded Mr. Thorneycroft, opening his eyes.

"Never mind, father," replied Ebba. "I saw him last night," she added
to Auriol. "I was sitting in the back room alone, wondering what had
become of you, when I heard a tap against the window, which was partly
open, and, looking up, I beheld the tall stranger. It was nearly dark,
but the light of the fire revealed his malignant countenance. I don't
exaggerate, when I say his eyes gleamed like those of a tiger. I was
terribly frightened, but something prevented me from crying out. After
gazing at me for a few moments, with a look that seemed to fascinate
while it frightened me, he said--'You desire to see Auriol Darcy. I
have just quitted him. Go to Langham-place tomorrow, and, as the clock
strikes two, you will behold him.' Without waiting for any reply on my
part, he disappeared."

"Ah, you never told me this, you little rogue!" cried Mr.
Thorneycroft. "You persuaded me to come out with you, in the hope of
meeting Mr. Darcy; but you did not say you were sure to find him. So
you sent this mysterious gentleman to her, eh?" he added to Auriol.

"No, I did not," replied the other, gloomily.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the iron-merchant with a puzzled look.

"Oh, then I suppose he thought it might relieve her anxiety. However,
since we have met, I hope you'll walk home and dine with us."

Auriol was about to decline the invitation, but Ebba glanced at him

"I have an engagement, but I will forgo it," he said, offering his arm
to her.

And they walked along towards Oxford-street, while Mr. Thorneycroft
followed a few paces behind them.

"This is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy," said Ebba. "Oh, I have been so

"I grieve to hear it," he rejoined. "I hoped you had forgotten me."

"I am sure you did not think so," she cried.

As she spoke, she felt a shudder pass through Auriol's frame.

"What ails you?" she anxiously inquired.

"I would have shunned you, if I could, Ebba," he replied; "but a fate,
against which it is vain to contend, has brought us together again."

"I am glad of it," she replied; "because ever since our last
interview, I have been reflecting on what you then said to me, and am
persuaded you are labouring under some strange delusion, occasioned by
your recent accident."

"Be not deceived, Ebba," cried Auriol. "I am under a terrible
influence. I need not remind you of the mysterious individual who
tapped at your window last night."

"What of him?" demanded Ebba, with a thrill of apprehension. "He it is
who controls my destiny," replied Auriol.

"But what has he to do with me?" asked Ebba.

"Much, much," he replied, with a perceptible shudder.

"You terrify me, Auriol," she rejoined. "Tell me what you mean--in
pity, tell me?"

Before Auriol could reply Mr. Thorneycroft stepped forward, and turned
the conversation into another channel.

Soon after this, they reached the Quadrant, and were passing beneath
the eastern colonnade, when Ebba's attention was attracted towards a
man who was leading a couple of dogs by a string, while he had others
under his arm, others again in his pocket, and another in his breast.
It was Mr. Ginger.

"What a pretty little dog!" cried Ebba, remarking the Charles the
Second spaniel.

"Allow me to present you with it?" said Auriol.

"You know I should value it, as coming from you," she replied,
blushing deeply; "but I cannot accept it; so I will not look at it
again, for fear I should be tempted."

The dog-fancier, however, noticing Ebba's admiration, held forward the
spaniel, and said, "Do jist look at the pretty little creater, miss.
It han't its equil for beauty. Don't be afeerd on it, miss. It's as
gentle as a lamb."

"Oh! you little darling!" Ebba said, patting its sleek head and long
silken ears, while it fixed its large black eyes upon her, as if
entreating her to become its purchaser.

"Fairy seems to have taken quite a fancy to you miss," observed
Ginger; "and she aint i' the habit o' fallin' i' love at first sight.
I don't wonder at it, though for my part. I should do jist the same,
if I wos in her place. Veil, now, miss, as she seems to like you, and
you seem to like her, I won't copy the manners o' them 'ere fathers as
has stony 'arts, and part two true lovvers. You shall have her a

"What do you call a bargain, my good man?" inquired Ebba, smiling.

"I wish I could afford to give her to you, miss," replied Ginger; "you
should have her, and welcome. But I must airn a livelihood, and Fairy
is the most wallerable part o' my stock. I'll tell you wot I give for
her myself, and you shall have her at a trifle beyond it. I'd scorn to
take adwantage o' the likes o' you."

"I hope you didn't give too much, then, friend," replied Ebba.

"I didn't give hayf her wally--not hayf," said Ginger; "and if so be
you don't like her in a month's time, I'll buy her back again from
you. You'll alvays find me here--alvays. Everybody knows Mr. Ginger--
that's my name, miss. I'm the only honest man in the dog-fancyin'
line. Ask Mr. Bishop, the great gunmaker o' Bond-street, about me--him
as the nobs call the Bishop o' Bond-street--an: he'll tell you."

"But you haven't answered the lady's question," said Auriol. "What do
you ask for the dog?"

"Do you want it for yourself, sir, or for her?" inquired Ginger.

"What does it matter?" cried Auriol, angrily.

"A great deal, sir," replied Ginger; "it'll make a mater'al difference
in the price. To you, she'll be five-an'-twenty guineas. To the young
lady, twenty."

"But suppose I buy her for the young lady?" said Auriol.

"Oh, then, in coorse, you'll get her at the lower figure!" replied

"I hope you don't mean to buy the dog?" interposed Mr. Thorneycroft.
"The price is monstrous--preposterous."

"It may appear so to you, sir," said Ginger, "because you're ignorant
o' the wally of sich a hanimal; but I can tell you it's cheap--dirt
cheap. Vy, his excellency the Prooshian ambassador bought a Charley
from me, t'other week, to present to a certain duchess of his
acquaintance, and wot d'ye think he give for it?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," replied Mr. Thorneycroft,

"Eighty guineas," said Ginger. "Eighty guineas, as I'm a livin' man,
and made no bones about it neither. The dog I sold him warn't to be
compared wi' Fairy."

"Stuff--stuff!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft; "I aint' to be gammoned in
that way."

"It's no gammon," said Ginger. "Look at them ears, miss.--vy, they're
as long as your own ringlets--and them pads--an' I'm sure you von't-ay
she's dear at twenty pound."

"She's a lovely little creature, indeed," returned Ebba, again patting
the animal's head.

While this was passing, two men of very suspicious mien, ensconced
behind a pillar adjoining the group, were reconnoitring Auriol.

"It's him!" whispered the taller and darker of the two to his
companion--"it's the young man ve've been lookin' for--Auriol Darcy."

"It seems like him," said the other, edging round the pillar as far as
he could without exposure. "I vish he'd turn his face a leetle more
this vay."

"It's him I tell you, Sandman," said the Tinker. "Ve must give the
signal to our comrade."

"Vell, I'll tell you wot it is, miss," said Ginger, coaxingly, "your
sveet'art--I'm sure he's your sveet'art--I can tell these things in a
minnit--your sveet'art, I say, shall give me fifteen pound, and the
dog's yourn. I shall lose five pound by the transaction; but I don't
mind it for sich a customer as you. Fairy desarves a kind missus."

Auriol, who had fallen into a fit of abstraction, here remarked:

"What's that you are saying, fellow?"

"I vos a-sayin', sir, the young lady shall have the dog for fifteen
pound, and a precious bargin it is," replied Ginger.

"Well, then, I close with you. Here's the money," said Auriol, taking
out his purse.

"On no account, Auriol," cried Ebba, quickly. "It's too much."

"A great deal too much, Mr. Darcy," said Thorneycroft.

"Auriol and Darcy!" muttered Ginger. "Can this be the gemman ve're a-
lookin' for. Vere's my two pals, I vonder? Oh, it's all right!" he
added, receiving a signal from behind the pillar. "They're on the
look-out, I see."

"Give the lady the dog, and take the money, man," said Auriol,

"Beg pardon, sir," said Ginger, "but hadn't I better carry the dog
home for the young lady? It might meet vith some accident in the vay."

"Accident!--stuff and nonsense!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "The rascal
only wants to follow you home, that he may know where you live, and
steal the dog back again. Take my advice, Mr. Darcy, and don't buy

"The bargain's concluded," said Ginger, delivering the dog to Ebba,
and taking the money from Auriol, which, having counted, he thrust
into his capacious breeches-pocket.

"How shall I thank you for this treasure, Auriol?" exclaimed Ebba, in
an ecstasy of delight.

"By transferring to it all regard you may entertain for me," he
replied, in a low tone.

"That is impossible," she answered.

"Well, I vote we drive away at once," said Mr. Thorneycroft. "Halloa!
jarvey!" he cried, hailing a coach that was passing; adding, as the
vehicle stopped, "Now get in, Ebba. By this means we shall avoid being
followed by the rascal." So saying, he got into the coach. As Auriol
was about to follow him, he felt a slight touch on his arm, and,
turning, beheld a tall and very forbidding man by his side.

"Beg pardin, sir," said the fellow, touching his hat, "but ain't your
name Mr. Auriol Darcy?"

"It is," replied Auriol, regarding him fixedly. "Why do you ask?"

"I vants a vord or two vith you in private--that's all, sir," replied
the Tinker.

"Say what you have to say at once," rejoined Auriol. "I know nothing
of you."

"You'll know me better by-and-by sir," said the Tinker, in a
significant tone. "I must speak to you, and alone."

"If you don't go about your business, fellow, instantly, I'll give you
in charge of the police," cried Auriol.

"No you von't sir--no you von't," replied the Tinker, shaking his
head. And then, lowering his voice, he added, "You'll be glad to
purchase my silence ven you larns wot secrets o' yourn has come to my

"Won't you get in, Mr. Darcy?" cried Thorneycroft, whose back was
towards the Tinker. "I must speak to this man," replied Auriol, "I'll
come to you in the evening. Till then, farewell, Ebba." And, as the
coach drove away, he added to the Tinker, "Now, rascal, what have you
to say?"

"Step this vay, sir," replied the Tinker. "There's two friends o' mine
as vishes to be present at our conference. Ve'd better valk into a
back street."


Followed by Auriol, who, in his turn, was followed by Ginger and the
Sandman, the Tinker directed his steps to Great Windmill-street; where
he entered a public-house, called the Black Lion. Leaving his four-
footed attendants with the landlord, with whom he was acquainted,
Ginger caused the party to be shown into a private room, and, on
entering it, Auriol flung himself into a chair, while the dog--fancier
stationed himself near the door.

"Now what do you want with me?" demanded Auriol.

"You shall learn presently," replied the Tinker; "but first, it may be
as vell to state, that a certain pocket-book has been found."

"Ah!" exclaimed Auriol. "You are the villains who beset me in the
ruined house in the Vauxhall-road."

"Your pocket-book has been found, I tell you," replied the Tinker,
"and from it ve have made the most awful diskiveries. Our werry 'air
stood on end ven ve first read the shockin' particulars. What a
bloodthirsty ruffian you must be! Vy, ve finds you've been i' the
habit o' makin' avay with a young ooman vonce every ten years. Your
last wictim wos in 1820--the last but one, in 1810--and the one before
her, in 1800."

"Hangin's too good for you!" cried the Sandman; "but if ve peaches
you're sartin to sving."

"I hope that pretty creater I jist see ain't to be the next victim?"
said Ginger.

"Peace!" thundered Auriol. "What do you require?"

"A hundred pound each'll buy our silence," replied the Tinker. "Ve
ought to have double that," said the Sandman, "for screenin' sich
atterocious crimes as he has parpetrated. Ve're not werry partic'lar
ourselves, but ve don't commit murder wholesale."

"Ve don't commit murder at all," said Ginger.

"You may fancy," pursued the Tinker, "that ve aint' perfectly
acvainted with your history, but to prove that ve are, I'll just rub
up your memory. Did you ever hear tell of a gemman as murdered Doctor
Lamb, the famous halchemist o' Queen Bess's time, and, havin' drank
the 'lixir vich the doctor had made for hisself, has lived ever since?
Did you ever hear tell of such a person, I say?"

Auriol gazed at him in astonishment.

"What idle tale are you inventing?" he said, at length.

"It is no idle tale," replied the Tinker, boldly. "Ve can bring a
vitness as'll prove the fact--a livin' vitness."

"What witness?" cried Auriol.

"Don't you rekilect the dwarf as used to serve Doctor Lamb?" rejoined
the Tinker. "He's alive still; and ve calls him Old Parr, on account
of his great age."

"Where is he?--what has become of him?" demanded Auriol.

"Oh, ve'll preduce him in doo time," replied the Tinker, cunningly.

"But tell me where the poor fellow is?" cried Auriol. "Have you seen
him since last night? I sent him to a public-house at Kensington, but
he has disappeared from it, and I can discover no traces of him."

"He'll turn up somewhere--never fear," rejoined the Tinker "But now,
sir, that ve fairly understands each other, are you agreeable to our
terms? You shall give us an order for the money, and ve'll undertake
on our parts, not to mislest you more."

"The pocket-book must be delivered up to me if I assent," said Auriol,
"and the poor dwarf must be found."

"Vy, as to that, I can scarcely promise," replied the Tinker; "there's
a difficulty in the case, you see. But the pocket-book'll never be
brought aginst you--you may rest assured o' that."

"I must have it, or you get nothing from me," cried Auriol.

"Here's a bit o' paper as come from the pocket-book," said Ginger.
"Would you like to hear wot's written upon it? Here are the words:--
'How many crimes have I to reproach myself with! How many innocents
have I destroyed! And all owing to my fatal compact with---"

"Give me that paper," cried Auriol, rising and attempting to snatch it
from the dog-fancier.

Just at this moment, and while Ginger retreated from Auriol, the door
behind him was noiselessly opened--a hand was thrust through the
chink--and the paper was snatched from his grasp. Before Ginger could
turn round, the door was closed again.

"Halloa! What's that?" he cried. "The paper's gone!"

"The hand again!" cried the Sandman, in alarm. "See who's in the
passage--open the door--quick!"

Ginger cautiously complied and, peeping forth, said:

"There's no one there. It must be the devil. I'll have nuffin' more to
do wi' the matter."

"Poh! poh! don't be so chicken-'arted!" cried the Tinker. "But come
what may, the gemman sha'n't stir till he undertakes to pay us three
hundred pounds."

"You seek to frighten me in vain, villain," cried Auriol, upon whom
the recent occurrence had not been lost. "I have but to stamp my foot,
and I can instantly bring assistance that shall overpower you."

"Don't provoke him," whispered Ginger, plucking the Tinker's sleeve.
"For my part, I shan't stay any longer. I wouldn't take his money."
And he quitted the room.

"I'll go and see wot's the matter wi' Ginger," said the Sandman
slinking after him.

The Tinker looked nervously round. He was not proof against his
superstitious fears.

"Here, take this purse, and trouble me no more!" cried Auriol. The
Tinker's hands clutched the purse mechanically, but he instantly laid
it down again.

"I'm bad enough--but I won't sell myseff to the devil," he said.

And he followed his companions.

Left alone, Auriol groaned aloud, and covered his face with his hands.
When he looked up, he found the tall man in the black cloak standing
beside him. A demoniacal smile played upon his features.

"You here?" cried Auriol.

"Of course," replied the stranger. "I came to watch over your safety.
You were in danger from those men. But you need not concern yourself
more about them. I have your pocket-book, and the slip of paper that
dropped from it. Here are both. Now let us talk on other matters. You
have just parted from Ebba, and will see her again this evening."

"Perchance," replied Auriol.

"You will," rejoined the stranger, peremptorily. "Remember, your ten
years' limit draws to a close. In a few days it will be at an end; and
if you renew it not, you will incur the penalty, and you know it to be
terrible. With the means of renewal in your hands, why hesitate?"

"Because I will not sacrifice the girl," replied Auriol.

"You cannot help yourself," cried the stranger, scornfully. "I command
you to bring her to me."

"I persist in my refusal," replied Auriol.

"It is useless to brave my power," said the stranger. "A moon is just
born. When it has attained its first quarter, Ebba shall be mine. Till
then, farewell."

And as the words were uttered, he passed through the door.


Who has not heard of the Barber of London? His dwelling is in the
neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn. It is needless to particularize the
street, for everybody knows the shop; that is to say, every member of
the legal profession, high or low. All, to the very judges themselves,
have their hair cut, or their wigs dressed by him. A pleasant fellow
is Mr. Tuffnell Trigge--Figaro himself not pleasanter--and if you do
not shave yourself--if you want a becoming flow imparted to your
stubborn locks, or if you require a wig, I recommend you to the care
of Mr. Tuffnell Trigge. Not only will he treat you well, but he will
regale you with all the gossip of the court; he will give you the last
funny thing of Mr. Serjeant Larkins; he will tell you how many briefs
the great Mr. Skinner Fyne receives--what the Vice-Chancellor is
doing; and you will own, on rising that have never spent a five
minutes more agreeably. Besides, you are likely to see some noticeable
characters, for Mr. Trigge's shop is quite a lounge. Perhaps you may
find a young barrister who has just been "called", ordering his "first
wig", and you may hear the prognostications of Mr. Trigge to his
future distinction. "Ah, sir," he will say, glancing at the stolid
features of the young man, "you have quite the face of the Chief
Justice--quite the face of the chief--I don't recollect him ordering
his first wig--that was a little before my time; but I hope to live to
see you chief, sir. Quite within your reach, if you choose to apply.
Sure of it, sir--quite sure." Or you may see him attending to some
grave master in Chancery, and listening with profound attention to his
remarks; or screaming with laughter at the jokes of some smart special
pleader; or talking of the theatres, the actors and actresses, to some
young attorneys, or pupils in conveyancers' chambers; for those are
the sort of customers in whom Mr. Trigge chiefly delights; with them,
indeed, he is great, for it is by them he has been dubbed the Barber
of London. His shop is also frequented by managing clerks, barristers'
clerks, engrossing clerks and others; but these are, for the most
part, his private friends.

Mr. Trigge's shop is none of your spruce West end hair-cutting
establishments, with magnificent mirrors on every side, in which you
may see the back of your head, the front, and the side, all at once,
with walls bedizened with glazed French paper, and with an ante-room
full of bears'-grease, oils, creams, tooth-powders, and cut glass. No,
it is a real barber's and hairdresser's shop, of the good old stamp,
where you may get cut and curled for a shilling, and shaved for half
the price.

True, the floor is not covered with a carpet. But what of that? It
bears the imprint of innumerable customers, and is scattered over with
their hair. In the window, there is an assortment of busts moulded in
wax, exhibiting the triumphs of Mr. Trigge's art; and, above these,
are several specimens of legal wigs. On the little counter behind the
window, amid large pots of pommade, and bears'-grease, and the irons
and brushes in constant use by the barber, are other bustos, done to
the life, and for ever glancing amiably into the room. On the block is
a judge's wig, which Mr. Trigge has just been dressing, and a little
farther, on a higher block, is that of a counsel. On either side of
the fireplace are portraits of Lord Eldon and Lord Lyndhurst. Some
other portraits of pretty actresses are likewise to be seen. Against
the counter rests a board, displaying the playbill of the evening; and
near it is a large piece of emblematical crockery, indicating that
bears'-grease may be had on the premises. Amongst Mr. Trigge's live-
stock may be enumerated his favourite magpie, placed in a wicker cage
in the window, which chatters incessantly, and knows everything its
master avouches, "as well as a Christian".

And now as to Mr. Tuffnell Trigge himself. He is very tall and very
thin, and holds himself so upright that he loses not an inch of his
stature. His head is large and his face long, with marked, if not very
striking features, charged, it must be admitted with a very self-
satisfied expression. One cannot earn the appellation of the Barber of
London without talent; and it is the consciousness of this talent that
lends to Mr. Trigge's features their apparently conceited expression.
A fringe of black whisker adorns his cheek and chin, and his black
bristly hair is brushed back, so as to exhibit the prodigious expanse
of his forehead. His eyebrows are elevated, as if in constant scorn.

The attire in which Mr. Trigge is ordinarily seen, consists of a black
velvet waistcoat, and tight black continuations. These are protected
by a white apron tied round his waist, with pockets to hold his
scissors and combs; over all, he wears a short nankeen jacket, into
the pockets of which his hands are constantly thrust when not
otherwise employed. A black satin stock with a large bow encircles his
throat, and his shirt is fastened by black enamel studs. Such is Mr.
Tuffnell Trigge, yclept the Barber of London.

At the time of his introduction to the reader, Mr. Trigge had just
advertised for an assistant, his present young man, Rutherford Watts,
being about to leave him, and set up for himself in Canterbury. It was
about two o'clock, and Mr. Trigge had just withdrawn into an inner
room to take some refection, when, on returning, he found Watts
occupied in cutting the hair of a middle-aged, sour-looking gentleman,
who was seated before the fire. Mr. Trigge bowed to the sour-looking
gentleman, and appeared ready to enter into conversation with him, but
no notice being taken of his advances, he went and talked to his

While he was chattering to it, the sagacious bird screamed forth:
"Pretty dear!--pretty dear!" "Ah! what's that? Who is it?" cried

"Pretty dear!--pretty dear!" reiterated the magpie.

Upon this, Trigge looked around, and saw a very singular little man
enter the shop. He had somewhat the appearance of a groom being
clothed in a long grey coat, drab knees, and small top-boots. He had a
large and remarkable projecting mouth, like that of a baboon, and a
great shock head of black hair.

"Pretty dear!--pretty dear!" screamed the magpie.

"I see nothing pretty about him," thought Mr. Trigge. "What a strange
fellow. It would puzzle the Lord Chancellor himself to say what his
age might be."

The little man took off his hat, and making a profound bow to the
barber, unfolded the Times newspaper, which he carried under his arm,
and held it up to Trigge.

"What do you want, my little friend, eh?" said the barber.

"High wages!--high wages!" screamed the magpie.

"Is this yours, sir?" replied the little man, pointing to an
advertisement in the newspaper.

"Yes, yes, that's my advertisement, friend," replied Mr. Trigge. "But
what of it?"

Before the little man could answer a slight interruption occurred.
While eyeing the newcomer, Watts neglected to draw forth the hot
curling-irons, in consequence of which he burnt the sour-looking
gentleman's forehead and singed his hair.

"Take care, sir!" cried the gentleman, furiously. "What the devil are
you about?"

"Yes! take care, sir, as Judge Learmouth observes to a saucy witness,"
cried Trigge--"'take care, or I'll commit you!'"

"D--n Judge Learmouth!" cried the gentleman, angrily. "If I were a
judge, I'd hang such a careless fellow."

"Sarve him right!" screamed Mag--"sarve him right!"

"Beg pardon, sir," cried Watts. "I'll rectify you in a minute."

"Well, my little friend," observed Trigge, "and what may be your
object in coming to me, as the great conveyancer, Mr. Plodwell,
observes to his clients--what may be your object?"

"You want an assistant, don't you, sir?" rejoined the little man,

"Do you apply on your own account, or on behalf of a friend?" asked

"On my own," replied the little man.

"What are your qualifications?" demanded Trigge--"what are your

"I fancy I understand something of the business," replied the little
man. "I was a perruquier myself, when wigs were more in fashion than
they are now."

"Ha! indeed!" said Trigge, laughing. "That must have been in the last
century--in Queen Anne's time--eh?"

"You have hit it exactly, sir," replied the little man. "It was in
Queen Anne's time."

"Perhaps you recollect when wigs were first worn, my little Nestor,"
cried Mr. Trigge.

"Perfectly," replied the little man. "French periwigs were first worn
in Charles the Second's time."

"You saw 'em, of course?" cried the barber, with a sneer.

"I did," replied the little man, quietly.

"Oh, he must be out of his mind," cried Trigge. "We shall have a
commission de lunatico to issue here, as the Master of the Rolls would

"I hope I may suit you, sir," said the little man.

"I don't think you will, my friend," replied Mr. Trigge; "I don't
think you will. You don't seem to have a hand for hair-dressing. Are
you aware of the talent the art requires? Are you aware what it has
cost me to earn the enviable title of the Barber of London? I'm as
proud of that title as if I were---"

"Lord Chancellor!--Lord Chancellor!" screamed Mag.

"Precisely, Mag," said Mr. Trigge; "as if I were Lord Chancellor."

"Well, I'm sorry for it," said the little man, disconsolately.

"Pretty dear!" screamed Mag; "pretty dear!"

"What a wonderful bird you have got!" said the sour-looking gentleman,
rising and paying Mr. Trigge. "I declare its answers are quite

"Ah! Mag is a clever creature, sir--that she is," replied the barber.
"I gave a good deal for her."

"Little or nothing!" screamed Mag--"little or nothing!"

"What is your name, friend?" said the gentleman, addressing the little
man, who still lingered in the shop.

"Why, sir, I've had many names in my time," he replied. "At one time I
was called Flapdragon--at another, Old Parr--but my real name, I
believe, is Morse--Gregory Morse."

"An Old Bailey answer," cried Mr. Trigge, shaking his head.

"Flapdragon, alias Old Parr--alias Gregory Morse--alias---"

"Pretty dear!" screamed Mag.

"And you want a place?" demanded the sour-looking gentleman, eyeing
him narrowly.

"Sadly," replied Morse.

"Well, then, follow me," said the gentleman, "and I'll see what can be
done for you."

And they left the shop together.


IN spite of his resolution to the contrary, Auriol found it impossible
to resist the fascination of Ebba's society, and became a daily
visitor at her father's house. Mr. Thorneycroft noticed the growing
attachment between them with satisfaction. His great wish was to see
his daughter united to the husband of her choice, and in the hope of
smoothing the way, he let Auriol understand that he should give her a
considerable marriage-portion.

For the last few days a wonderful alteration had taken place in
Auriol's manner, and he seemed to have shaken off altogether the cloud
that had hitherto sat upon his spirits. Enchanted by the change, Ebba
indulged in the most blissful anticipations of the future.

One evening they walked forth together, and almost unconsciously
directed their steps towards the river. Lingering on its banks, they
gazed on the full tide, admired the glorious sunset, and breathed over
and over again those tender nothings so eloquent in lovers' ears.

"Oh! how different you are from what you were a week ago," said Ebba,
playfully. "Promise me not to indulge in any more of those gloomy

"I will not indulge in them if I can help it, rest assured, sweet
Ebba," he replied. "But my spirits are not always under my control. I
am surprised at my own cheerfulness this evening."

"I never felt so happy," she replied; "and the whole scene is in
unison with my feelings. How soothing is the calm river flowing at our
feet!--how tender is the warm sky, still flushed with red, though the
sun has set! And see, yonder hangs the crescent moon. She is in her
first quarter."

"The moon in her first quarter!" cried Auriol, in a tone of anguish.
"All then is over."

"What means this sudden change?" cried Ebba, frightened by his looks.

"Oh, Ebba," he replied, "I must leave you. I have allowed myself to
dream of happiness too long. I am an accursed being, doomed only to
bring misery upon those who love me. I warned you on the onset, but
you would not believe me. Let me go, and perhaps it may not yet be too
late to save you."

"Oh no, do not leave me!" cried Ebba. "I have no fear while you are
with me."

"But you do not know the terrible fate I am linked to," he said. "This
is the night when it will be accomplished."

"Your moody fancies do not alarm me as they used to do, dear Auriol,"
she rejoined, "because I know them to be the fruit of a diseased
imagination. Come, let us continue our walk," she added, taking his
arm kindly.

"Ebba," he cried, "I implore you to let me go! I have not the power to
tear myself away unless you aid me."

"I'm glad to hear it," she rejoined, "for then I shall hold you fast."

"You know not what you do!" cried Auriol. "Release me! oh, release

"In a few moments the fit will be passed," she rejoined. "Let us walk
towards the abbey."

"It is in vain to struggle against fate," ejaculated Auriol,

And he suffered himself to be led in the direction proposed.

Ebba continued to talk, but her discourse fell upon a deaf ear, and at
last she became silent too. In this way they proceeded along Millbank-
street and Abingdon-street, until, turning off on the right, they
found themselves before an old and partly demolished building. By this
time it had become quite dark, for the moon was hidden behind a rack
of clouds, but a light was seen in the upper storey of the structure,
occasioned, no doubt, by a fire within it, which gave a very
picturesque effect to the broken outline of the walls.

Pausing for a moment to contemplate the ruin, Ebba expressed a wish to
enter it. Auriol offered no opposition, and passing through an arched
doorway, and ascending a short, spiral, stone staircase, they
presently arrived at a roofless chamber, which it was evident, from
the implements and rubbish lying about, was about to be razed to the
ground. On one side there was a large arch, partly bricked up, through
which opened a narrow doorway, though at some height from the ground;
With this a plank communicated, while beneath it lay a great heap of
stones, amongst which were some grotesque carved heads. In the centre
of the chamber was a large square opening, like the mouth of a
trapdoor, from which the top of a ladder projected, and near it stood
a flaming brazier, which had cast forth the glare seen from below.
Over the ruinous walls on the right hung the crescent moon, now
emerged from the cloud, and shedding a ghostly glimmer on the scene.

"What a strange place!" cried Ebba, gazing around with some
apprehension. "It looks like a spot one reads of in romance. I wonder
where that trap leads to?"

"Into the vault beneath, no doubt," replied Auriol. "But why did we
come hither?"

As he spoke, there was a sound like mocking laughter, but whence
arising it was difficult to say.

"Did you hear that sound?" cried Auriol.

"It was nothing but the echo of laughter from the street," she
replied. "You alarm yourself without reason, Auriol."

"No, not without reason," he cried. "I am in the power of a terrible
being, who seeks to destroy you, and I know that he is at hand. Listen
to me, Ebba, and however strange my recital may appear, do not suppose
it the ravings of a madman, but be assured it is the truth."

"Beware!" cried a deep voice, issuing apparently from the depths of
the vault.

"Some one spoke," cried Ebba. "I begin to share your apprehensions;
Let us quit this place." "Come, then," said Auriol.

"Not so fast," cried a deep voice.

And they beheld the mysterious owner of the black cloak barring their
passage out.

"Ebba, you are mine," cried the stranger. "Auriol has brought you to

"It is false!" cried Auriol. "I never will yield her to you."

"Remember your compact," rejoined the stranger, with a mocking laugh.

"Oh, Auriol!" cried Ebba, "I fear for your soul. You have not made a
compact with this fiend?"

"He has," replied the stranger; "and by that compact you are
surrendered to me."

And, as he spoke, he advanced towards her, and enveloping her in his
cloak, her cries were instantly stifled.

"You shall not go!" cried Auriol, seizing him. "Release her, or I
renounce you wholly."

"Fool!" cried the stranger, "since you provoke my wrath, take your

And he stamped on the ground. At this signal an arm was thrust from
the trap-door, and Auriol's hand was seized with an iron grasp.

While this took place, the stranger bore his lovely burden swiftly up
the plank leading to the narrow doorway in the wall, and just as he
was passing through it he pointed towards the sky, and shouted with a
mocking smile to Auriol---

"Behold! the moon is in her first quarter. My words are fulfilled!"

And he disappeared.

Auriol tried to disengage himself from the grasp imposed upon him in
vain. Uttering ejaculations of rage and despair, he was dragged
forcibly backwards into the vault.


ONE morning, two persons took their way along Parliament-street and
Whitehall, and, chatting as they walked, turning into the entrance of
Spring-gardens, for the purpose of looking at the statue at Charing-
cross. One of them was remarkable for his dwarfish stature and strange
withered features. The other was a man of middle size, thin, rather
elderly, and with a sharp countenance, the sourness of which was
redeemed by a strong expression of benevolence He was clad in a black
coat, rather rusty, but well brushed, buttoned up to the chin, black
tights, short drab gaiters, and wore a white neckcloth and spectacles.

Mr. Loftus (for so he was called) was a retired merchant of moderate
fortune, and lived in Abingdon-street. He was a bachelor, and
therefore pleased himself; and being a bit of an antiquary, rambled
about all day long in search of some object of interest. His walk, on
the present occasion, was taken with that view.

"By Jove! what a noble statue that is, Morse!" cried Loftus, gazing at
it. "The horse is magnificent--positively magnificent."

"I recollect when the spot was occupied by a gibbet, and when, in lieu
of a statue, an effigy of the martyred monarch was placed there,"
replied Morse. "That was in the time of the Protectorate."

"You cannot get those dreams out of your head, Morse," said Loftus,
smiling. "I wish I could persuade myself I had lived for two centuries
and a half."

"Would you could have seen the ancient cross, which once stood there,
erected by Edward the First to his beloved wife, Eleanor of Castile,"
said Morse, heedless of the other's remark. "It was much mutilated
when I remember it; some of the pinnacles were broken, and the foliage
defaced, but statues of the queen were still standing in the recesses;
and altogether the effect was beautiful."

"It must have been charming," observed Loftus, rubbing his hands;
"and, though I like the statue, I would much rather have had the old
Gothic cross. But how fortunate the former escaped destruction in
Oliver Cromwell's time."

"I can tell you how that came to pass, sir," replied Morse, "for I was
assistant to John Rivers, the brazier, to whom the statue was sold."

"Ah! indeed!" exclaimed Loftus. "I have heard something of the story,
but should like to have full particulars."

"You shall hear them, then," replied Morse. "Yon statue, which, as you
know, was cast by Hubert le Sueur, in 1633, was ordered by parliament
to be sold and broken to pieces. Well, my master, John Rivers, being a
staunch royalist, though he did not dare to avow his principles,
determined to preserve it from destruction. Accordingly, he offered a
good round sum for it, and was declared the purchaser. But how to
dispose of it was the difficulty. He could trust none of his men, but
me whom he knew to be as hearty a hater of the Roundheads, and as
loyal to the memory of our slaughtered sovereign, as himself. Well, we
digged a great pit, secretly, in the cellar, whither the statue had
been conveyed, and buried it. The job occupied us nearly a month; and
during that time, my master collected together all the pieces of old
brass he could procure. These he afterwards produced, and declared
they were the fragments of the statue. But the cream of the jest was
to come. He began to cast handles of knives and forks in brass, giving
it out that they were made from the metal of the statue. And plenty of
'em he sold too, for the Cavaliers bought 'em as memorials of their
martyred monarch, and the Roundheads as evidences of his fall. In this
way he soon got back his outlay."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Loftus.

"Well, in due season came the Restoration," pursued Morse; "and my
master made known to King Charles the Second the treasure he had kept
concealed for him. It was digged forth, placed in its old position--
but I forget whether the brazier was rewarded. I rather think not."

"No matter," cried Loftus; "he was sufficiently rewarded by the
consciousness of having done a noble action. But let us go and examine
the sculpture on the pedestal more closely."

With this, he crossed over the road; and, taking off his hat, thrust
his head through the iron railing surrounding the pedestal, while
Morse, in order to point out the beauties of the sculpture with
greater convenience, mounted upon a stump beside him.

"You are aware that this is the work of Grinling Gibbons, sir?" cried
the dwarf.

"To be sure I am," replied Loftus--"to be sure. What fancy and gusto
is displayed in the treatment of these trophies!"

"The execution of the royal arms is equally admirable," cried Morse.

"Never saw anything finer," rejoined Loftus--"never, upon my life."

Every one knows how easily a crowd is collected in London, and it
cannot be supposed that our two antiquaries would be allowed to pursue
their investigations unmolested. Several ragged urchins got round
them, and tried to discover what they were looking at, at the same
time cutting their jokes upon them. These were speedily joined by a
street-sweeper, rather young in the profession, a ticket-porter, a
butcher's apprentice, an old Israelitish clothes-man, a coalheaver,
and a couple of charity-boys.

"My eyes!" cried the street-sweeper, "only twig these coves. If they
ain't green 'uns, I'm done."

"Old Spectacles thinks he has found it all out," remarked the porter;
"ve shall hear wot it all means, by-and-by."

"Pleash ma 'art," cried the Jew, "vat two funny old genelmen. I vonder
vat they thinks they sees?"

"I'll tell 'ee; master," rejoined the butcher's apprentice; "they're a
tryin' vich on 'em can see farthest into a millstone."

"Only think of living all my life in London, and never examining this
admirable work of art before!" cried Loftus, quite unconscious that he
had become the object of general curiosity.

"Look closer at it, old gem'man," cried the porter. "The nearer you
get, the more you'll admire it."

"Quite true," replied Loftus, fancying Morse had spoken; "it'll bear
the closest inspection."

"I say, Ned," observed one of the charity-boys to the other, "do you
get over the railin'; they must ha' dropped summat inside. See what it

"I'm afraid o' spikin' myself, Joe," replied the other; "but just give
us a lift, and I'll try." "Wot are you arter there, you young
rascals?" cried the coal-heaver; "come down, or I'll send the perlice
to you."

"Wot two precious guys these is!" cried a ragamuffin lad, accompanied
by a bull-dog. "I've a good mind to chuck the little un' off the post,
and set Tartar at him. Here, boy, here!"

"That 'ud be famous fun, indeed, Spicer!" cried another rapscallion
behind him.

"Arrah! let 'em alone, will you there, you young divils!" cried an
Irish bricklayer; "don't you see they're only two paiceable

"Oh, they're antiquaries, are they!" screamed the little street-
sweeper. "Vell, I never see the likes on 'em afore; did you, Sam?"

"Never," replied the porter.

"Och, murther in Irish! ye're upsettin' me, an' all the fruits of my
industry," cried an applewoman, against whom the bricklayer had run
his barrow. "Divil seize you for a careless wagabone! Why don't you
look where ye're going', and not dhrive into people in that way?"

"Axes pardon, Molly," said the bricklayer; "but I was so interested in
them antiquaries, that I didn't obsarve ye."

"Antiquaries be hanged! what's such warmint to me?" cried the
applewoman, furious. "You've destroyed my day's market, and bad luck
to ye!"

"Well, never heed, Molly," cried the good-natured bricklayer; "I'll
make it up t'ye. Pick up your apples, and you shall have a dhrop of
the craiter if you'll come along wid me."

While this was passing, a stout gentleman came from the farthest side
of the statue, and perceiving Loftus, cried--"Why, brother-in-law, is
that you?"

But Loftus was too much engrossed to notice him, and continued to
expiate upon the beauty of the trophies.

"What are you talking about, brother?" cried the stout gentleman.

"Grinling Gibbons," replied Loftus, without turning round. "Horace
Walpole said that no one before him could give to wood the airy
lightness of a flower, and here he has given it to a stone."

"This may be all very fine, my good fellow," said the stout gentleman,
seizing him by the shoulder, "but don't you see the crowd you're
collecting round you? You'll be mobbed presently."

"Why, how the devil did you come here, brother Thorneycroft?" cried
Loftus, at last recognizing him.

"Come along, and I'll tell you," replied the iron-merchant, dragging
him away, while Morse followed closely behind them. "I'm so glad to
have met you," pursued Thorneycroft, as soon as they were clear of the
mob; "you'll be shocked to hear what has happened to your niece,

"Why, what has happened to her?" demanded Loftus. "You alarm me. Out
with it at once. I hate to be kept in suspense."

"She has left me," replied Thorneycroft--"left her old indulgent
father--run away."

"Run away!" exclaimed Loftus. "Impossible! I'll not believe it--even
from your lips."

"Would it were not so!--but it is, alas! too true," replied
Thorneycroft, mournfully. "And the thing was so unnecessary, for I
would gladly have given her to the young man. My sole hope is that she
has not utterly disgrace'd herself."

"No, she is too high principled for that," cried Loftus. "Rest easy on
that score. But with whom has she run away?"

"With a young man named Auriol Darcy," replied Thorneycroft. "He was
brought to my house under peculiar circumstances."

"I never heard of him," said Loftus.

"But I have," interposed Morse. "I've known him these two hundred

"Eh day! who's this?" cried Thorneycroft.

"A crack-brained little fellow, whom I've engaged as valet," replied
Loftus. "He fancies he was born in Queen Elizabeth's time."

"It's no fancy," cried Morse. "I am perfectly acquainted with Auriol
Darcy's history. He drank of the same elixir as myself."

"If you know him, can you give us a clue to find him?" asked

"I am sorry I cannot," replied Morse. "I only saw him for a few
minutes the other night, after I had been thrown into the Serpentine
by the tall man in the black cloak."

"What's that you say?" cried Thorneycroft, quickly. "I have heard Ebba
speak of a tall man in a black cloak having some mysterious connection
with Auriol. I hope that person has nothing to do with her

"I shouldn't wonder if he had," replied Morse. "I believe that black
gentleman to be---"

"What!--who?" demanded Thorneycroft.

"Neither more nor less than the devil," replied Morse, mysteriously.

"Pshaw! poh!" cried Loftus. "I told you the poor fellow was half

At this moment, a roguish-looking fellow, with red whiskers and hair,
and clad in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, who had been
watching the iron-merchant at some distance, came up, and touching his
hat, said, "Mr. Thorneycroft, I believe?"

"My name is Thorneycroft, fellow!" cried the iron-merchant, eyeing him
askance. "And your name, I fancy, is Ginger?"

"Exactly, sir," replied the dog-fancier, again touching his hat, "ex-
actly. I didn't think you would rekilect me, sir. I bring you some
news of your darter."

"Of Ebba!" exclaimed Thorneycroft, in a tone of deep emotion. "I hope
your news is good." "I wish it wos better, for her sake as well as
yours, sir," replied the dog-fancier, gravely; "but I'm afeerd she's
in werry bad hands."

"That she is, if she's in the hands o' the black gentleman," observed

"Vy, Old Parr, that ain't you?" cried Ginger, gazing at him in
astonishment. "Vy, 'ow you are transmogrified, to be sure!"

"But what of my daughter?" cried Thorneycroft; "where is she? Take me
to her, and you shall be well rewarded."

"I'll do my best to take you to her, and without any reward, sir,"
replied Ginger, "for my heart bleeds for the poor young creater. As I
said afore, she's in dreadful bad hands."

"Do you allude to Mr. Auriol Darcy?" cried Thorneycroft.

"No, he's as much a wictim of this infernal plot as your darter,"
replied Ginger; "I thought him quite different at first--but I've
altered my mind entirely since some matters has come to my knowledge."

"You alarm me greatly by these dark hints," cried Thorneycroft. "What
is to be done?"

"I shall know in a few hours," replied Ginger. "I ain't got the exact
clue yet. But come to me at eleven o'clock tonight, at the Turk's
Head, at the back o' Shoreditch Church, and I'll put you on the right
scent. You must come alone."

"I should wish this gentleman, my brother-in-law, to accompany me,"
said Thorneycroft.

"He couldn't help you," replied Ginger. "I'll take care to have plenty
of assistance. It's a dangerous bus'ness, and can only be managed in a
sartin way, and by a sartin person, and he'd object to any von but
you. Tonight, at eleven! Good by, Old Parr. We shall meet again ere

And without a word more, he hurried away.


On that same night, at the appointed hour, Mr. Thorneycroft repaired
to Shoreditch, and entering a narrow street behind the church,
speedily discovered the Turk's Head, at the door of which a hackney-
coach was standing. He was shown by the landlord into a small back
room, in which three men were seated at a small table, smoking, and
drinking gin and water, while a fourth was standing near the fire,
with his back towards the door. The latter was a tall powerfully-built
man, wrapped in a rough great-coat, and did not turn round on the
iron-merchant's entrance.

"You are punctual, Mr. Thorneycroft," said Ginger, who was one of the
trio at the table; "and I'm happy to say, I've arranged everythin' for
you, sir. My friends are ready to undertake the job. Only they von't
do it on quite sich easy terms as mine."

The Tinker and the Sandman coughed slightly, to intimate their entire
concurrence in Mr. Ginger's remark.

"As I said to you this mornin', Mr. Thorneycroft," pursued Ginger,
"this is a difficult and a dangerous bus'ness; and there's no knowin'
wot may come on it. But it's your only chance o' recoverin' your

"Yes, it's your only chance," echoed the Tinker.

"Ve're about to risk our precious lives for you, sir," said the
Sandman; "so, in coorse, ve expects a perportionate revard."

"If you enable me to regain my daughter, you shall not find me
ungrateful," rejoined the iron-merchant.

"I must have a hundred pounds," said the Tinker--"that's my lowest."

"And mine, too," said the Sandman.

"I shall take nuffin' but the glory, as I said afore," remarked
Ginger. "I'm sworn champion o' poor distressed young damsils; but my
friends must make their own bargins."

"Well, I assent," returned Mr. Thorneycroft; "and the sooner we set
out the better."

"Are you armed?" asked Ginger.

"I have a brace of pistols in my pocket," replied Thorneycroft.

"All right, then--ve've all got pops and cutlashes," said Ginger. "So
let's be off."

As he spoke, the Tinker and Sandman arose; and the man in the rough
great-coat, who had hitherto remained with his back to them, turned
round. To the iron-merchant's surprise, he perceived that the face of
this individual was covered with a piece of black crepe.

"Who is this!" he demanded with some misgiving.

"A friend," replied Ginger. "Vithout him ve could do nuffin'. His name
is Reeks, and he is the chiefman in our enterprise."

"He claims a reward too, I suppose?" said Thorneycroft.

"I will tell you what reward I claim, Mr. Thorneycroft," rejoined
Reeks, in a deep stern tone, "when all is over. Meantime, give me your
solemn pledge, that whatever you may behold tonight, you will not
divulge it."

"I give it," replied the iron-merchant, "provided always---"

"No provision, sir," interrupted the other, quickly. "You must swear
to keep silence unconditionally, or I will not move a foot-step with
you; and I alone can guide you where your daughter is detained."

"Svear, sir; it is your only chance," whispered Ginger.

"Well, if it must be, I do swear to keep silence," rejoined Mr.
Thorneycroft; "but your proceedings appear very mysterious."

"The whole affair is mysterious," replied Reeks. "You must also
consent to have a bandage passed over your eyes when you get into the

"Anything more?" asked the iron-merchant.

"You must engage to obey my orders, without questioning, when we
arrive at our destination," rejoined Reeks. "Otherwise, there is no
chance of success."

"Be it as you will," returned Thorneycroft, "I must perforce agree."

"All then is clearly understood," said Reeks, "and we can now set

Upon this, Ginger conducted Mr. Thorneycroft to the coach, and as soon
as the latter got into it, tied a handkerchief tightly over his eyes.
In this state Mr. Thorneycroft heard the Tinker and the Sandman take
their places near him, but not remarking the voice of Reeks, concluded
that he must have got outside.

The next moment, the coach was put in motion, and rattled over the
stones at a rapid pace. It made many turns; but at length proceeded
steadily onwards, while from the profound silence around, and the
greater freshness of the air, Mr. Thorneycroft began to fancy they had
gained the country. Not a word was spoken by anyone during the ride.

After a while, the coach stopped, the door was opened, and Mr.
Thorneycroft was helped out. The iron-merchant expected his bandage
would now be removed, but he was mistaken, for Reeks, taking his arm,
drew him along at a quick pace. As they advanced, the iron-merchant's
conductor whispered him to be cautious, and, at the same time, made
him keep close to a wall. A door was presently opened, and as soon as
the party had passed through it, closed.

The bandage was then removed from Thorneycroft's eyes, and he found
himself in a large and apparently neglected garden. Though the sky was
cloudy, there was light enough to enable him to distinguish that they
were near an old dilapidated mansion.

"We are now arrived," said Reeks, to the iron-merchant, "and you will
have need of all your resolution."

"I will deliver her, or perish in the attempt," said Thorneycroft,
taking out his pistols. The others drew their cutlasses.

"Now then, follow me," said Reeks, "and act as I direct."

With this he struck into an alley formed by thick hedges of privet,
which brought them to the back part of the house. Passing through a
door, he entered the yard, and creeping cautiously along the wall,
reached a low window, which he contrived to open without noise. He
then passed through it, and was followed by the others.


We shall now return to the night of Ebba's seizure by the mysterious
stranger. Though almost deprived of consciousness by terror, the poor
girl could distinguish, from the movements of her captor, that she was
borne down a flight of steps, or some steep descent, and then for a
considerable distance along level ground. She was next placed in a
carriage, which was driven with great swiftness, and though it was
impossible to conjecture in what direction she was conveyed, it seemed
to her terrified imagination as if she were hurried down a precipice,
and she expected every moment to be dashed in pieces. At length, the
vehicle stopped, and she was lifted out of it, and carried along a
winding passage; after which, the creaking of hinges announced that a
door was opened. Having passed through it, she was deposited on a
bench, when, fright over-mastering her, her senses completely forsook

On recovering, she found herself seated on a fauteuil covered with
black velvet, in the midst of a gloomy chamber of vast extent, while
beside her, and supporting her from falling, stood the mysterious and
terrible stranger. He held a large goblet filled with some potent
liquid to her lips, and compelled her to swallow a portion of it. The
powerful stimulant revived her, but, at the same time, produced a
strange excitement, against which she struggled with all her power.
Her persecutor again held the goblet towards her, while a sardonic
smile played upon his features.

"Drink!" he cried; "it will restore you, and you have much to go

Ebba mechanically took the cup, and raised it to her lips, but
noticing the stranger's glance of exaltation, dashed it to the ground.

"You have acted foolishly," he said, sternly; "the potion would have
done you good."

Withdrawing her eyes from his gaze, which she felt exercise and
irresistible influence over her, Ebba gazed fearfully round the

It was vast and gloomy, and seemed like the interior of a sepulchre--
the walls and ceiling being formed of black marble, while the floor
was paved with the same material. Not far from where she sat, on an
estrade, approached by a couple of steps, stood a table covered with
black velvet, on which was placed an immense lamp, fashioned like an
imp supporting a cauldron on his outstretched wings. In this lamp were
several burners, which cast a lurid light throughout the chamber. Over
it hung a cap equally fantastically fashioned. A dagger, with a richly
wrought hilt, was stuck into the table; and beside it lay a strangely
shaped mask, an open book, an antique inkstand, and a piece of
parchment, on which some characters were inscribed. Opposite these
stood a curiously carved ebony chair.

At the lower end of the room, which was slightly elevated above the
rest, hung a large black curtain; and on the step, in front of it,
were placed two vases of jet.

"What is behind that curtain?" shudderingly demanded Ebba of her

"You will see anon," he replied. "Meanwhile, seat yourself on that
chair, and glance at the writing on the scroll."

Ebba did not move, but the stranger took her hand, and drew her to the

"Read what is written on that paper," he cried, imperiously.

Ebba glanced at the document, and a shudder passed over her frame.

"By this," she cried, "I surrender myself, soul and body, to you?"

"You do," replied the stranger.

"I have committed no crime that can place me within the power of the
Fiend," cried Ebba, falling upon her knees. "I call upon Heaven for
protection! Avaunt!"

As the words were uttered, the cap suddenly fell upon the lamp, and
the chamber was buried in profound darkness. Mocking laughter rang in
her ears, succeeded by wailing cries inexpressibly dreadful to hear.

Ebba continued to pray fervently for her own deliverance, and for that
of Auriol. In the midst of her supplications she was aroused by
strains of music in the most exquisite sweetness, proceeding
apparently from behind the curtain, and while listening to these
sounds she was startled by a deafening crash as if a large gong had
been stricken. The cover of the lamp was then slowly raised, and the
burners blazed forth as before, while from the two vases in front of
the curtain arose clouds of incense, filling the chamber with
stupifying fragrance.

Again the gong was stricken, and Ebba looked round towards the
curtain. Above each vase towered a gigantic figure, wrapped in a long
black cloak, the lower part of which was concealed by the thick
vapour. Hoods, like the cowls of monks, were drawn over the heads of
these grim and motionless figures; mufflers enveloped their chins, and
they wore masks, from the holes of which gleamed eyes of unearthly
brightness. Their hands were crossed upon their breasts. Between them
squatted two other spectral forms, similarly cloaked, hooded, and
masked, with their gleaming eyes fixed upon her, and their skinny
fingers pointing derisively at her.

Behind the curtain was placed a strong light, which showed a wide
staircase of black marble, leading to some upper chamber, and at the
same time threw the reflection of a gigantic figure upon the drapery,
while a hand, the finger of which pointed towards her, was thrust from
an opening between its folds.

Forcibly averting her gaze, Ebba covered her eyes with her hands, but
looking up again after a brief space, beheld an ebon door at the side
revolve upon its hinges, and give entrance to three female figures,
robed in black, hooded and veiled, and having their hands folded, in a
melancholy manner, across their breasts. Slowly and noiselessly
advancing, they halted within a few paces of her.

"Who, and what are ye?" she cried, wild with terror.

"The victims of Auriol!" replied the figure on the right. "As we are,
such will you be ere long."

"What crime have you committed?" demanded Ebba.

"We have loved him," replied the second figure.

"Is that a crime?" cried Ebba. "If so, I am equally culpable with

"You will share our doom," replied the third figure.

"Heaven have mercy upon me!" exclaimed the agonized girl, dropping
upon her knees.

At this moment a terrible voice from behind the curtain exclaimed---

"Sign, or Auriol is lost for ever."

"I cannot yield my soul, even to save him," cried Ebba distractedly.

"Witness his chastisement, then," cried the voice.

And as the words were uttered, a side door was opened on the opposite
side, and Auriol was dragged forth from it by two masked personages,
who looked like familiars of the Inquisition.

"Do not yield to the demands of this fiend, Ebba!" cried Auriol,
gazing at her distractedly.

"Will you save him before he is cast, living, into the tomb?" cried
the voice.

And at the words, a heavy slab or marble rose slowly from the floor
near where Ebba sat, and disclosed a dark pit beneath.

Ebba gazed into the abyss with indescribable terror.

"There he will be immured, unless you sign," cried the voice; "and, as
he is immortal, he will endure an eternity of torture."

"I cannot save him so, but I may precede him," cried Ebba. And
throwing her hands aloft, she flung herself into the pit.

A fearful cry resounded through the chamber. It broke from Auriol, who
vainly strove to burst from those who held him, and precipitate
himself after Ebba.

Soon after this, and while Auriol was gazing into the abyss, a tongue
of blue flame arose from it, danced for a moment in the air, and then
vanished. No sooner was it gone than a figure, shrouded in black
habiliments, and hooded and muffled up like the three other female
forms, slowly ascended from the vault, apparently without support, and
remained motionless at its brink.

"Ebba!" exclaimed Auriol, in a voice of despair. "Is it you?"

The figure bowed its head, but spoke not.

"Sign!" thundered the voice. "Your attempt at self-destruction has
placed you wholly in my power. Sign!"

At this injunction, the figure moved slowly towards the table, and, to
his unspeakable horror, Auriol beheld it take up the pen and write
upon the parchment. He bent forward, and saw that the name inscribed

The groan to which he gave utterance was echoed by a roar of
diabolical laughter.

The figure then moved slowly away, and ranged itself with the other
veiled forms.

"All is accomplished," cried the voice. "Away with him!"

On this, a terrible clangour was heard; the lights were extinguished;
and Auriol was dragged through the doorway from which he had been
brought forth.


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