Lionel's face remained covered, and it was only by choking gasps that he interrupted the Colonel's narrative. " Certainly," resumed Alban Morley, in a reflective tone, " certainly that vil- lain—I mean William Losely, for villain he afterward proved to be—had the sweetest, most forgiving temper! He might have gone about to his kinsmen and friends denouncing Charles Haughton, and saying by what solemn promises he had been undone. But no! such a story, just at that moment, would have crushed Charles Haughton's last chance of ever holding up his head again; and Charles told me (for it was through Charles that I knew the tale) that Willy's parting words to him were,
- Do not fret, Charlie. After all, my boy is now settled in life,
and I am a cat with nine lives, and should fall on my legs if thrown out of a garret window. Don't fret.' So he kept the secret, and told the money-lender to hold his tongue. Poor Willy! I never asked a rich friend to lend me money but once in my life. It was then. I went to Guy Darrell, who was in full practice, and said to him, ' Lend me one thousand pounds. I may never repay you.' ' Five thousand pounds, if you like it,' said he. ' One will do.' I took the money, and sent it to Willy. Alas! he returned it, writing word that 'Providence had been very kind to him; he had just been appointed to a capital place, with a magnificent salary. The cat had fallen on its legs.' He bade me comfort Haughton with that news. The money went back into Darrell's pocket, and perhaps wandered thence to Charles Haughton's creditors. Now for the appoint- ment. At the country house, to which Willy had returned des- titute, he had met a stranger (no relation) who said to him, ' You live with these people—shoot their game—break in their horses—see to their farms—and they give you nothing! You are no longer very young—you should lay by your little income, and add to it. Live with me, and I will give you;^3oo a year. I am parting with my steward—take his place, but be my friend.' William Losel}^ of course, closed with the proposition. This gentleman, whose name was Gunston, I had known slightly in former times (people say I know every body)—a soured, bilious, melancholy, indolent, misanthropical old bachelor. With a magnificent place universally admired, and a large estate uni- versally envied, he lived much alone, ruminating on the bitter- ness of life and the nothingness of worldly blessings. Meeting Willy at the country house to which, by some predestined relax- ation of misanthropy, he had been deco3'ed, for the first time for years Mr. Gunston was heard to laugh. He said to himself,
- Here is a man who actually amuses me.' William Losely con-
