Perceiving that some one was with her husband, Mrs. Hartley was about to beat an immediate retreat, but Hartley stopped her, and after a short colloquy between the pair, the stonemason entered with his companion.

Mrs. Hartley had disappeared, but there was a light in the kitchen, into which Walter Liddel was introduced.

The hospitable stonemason begged him to sit down, and, opening a cupboard, took from it some cold meat and bread, which he set before him, and bade him fall to.

Next proceeding to the scullery, Hartley drew a jug of beer. Walter Liddel ate as voraciously as a famished wolf.

Leaving him to enjoy the first good meal he had made for some days, Hartley went up-stairs, and his voice could be heard in consultation with his wife.

Evidently, some little preparation for their unexpected guest had to be made by the worthy couple, but it was completed before he had finished his meal. He was still engaged when Hartley reappeared.

“Glad to see you getting on so well, Mr. Liddel,” observed the stonemason. “It ain’t often we’ve a spare bed, but it so happens that our daughter Rose is away, so you can have her room.”

“Anywhere will do for me,” replied Walter, who by this time had devoured all the meat and bread, and emptied the jug of beer.

“Come on, then,” said Hartley, taking up the candle, and signing to his guest to follow him.

A short, narrow staircase brought them to a landing, whence two or three doors opened, one of which admitted them to a small chamber, simply but very neatly furnished. It breathed an atmosphere of purity and innocence, with which Walter, exhausted as he was, could not help being struck.

“There’s your bed,” said Hartley, pointing to the neat little couch, the patchwork quilt of which being turned down, revealed the snowy sheets.

“Thank you, my good friend; I couldn’t wish for a better,” replied Walter, squeezing the mason’s horny hand. “Heaven bless you for your kindness to me.”

“Don’t disturb yourself too soon,” observed Hartley. “I’m not going out early myself to-morrow. I’ll call you. Good night.”

So saying, he retired, and closed the door after him.

As soon as he was alone, the penitent knelt down, and besought Heaven’s forgiveness for the sinful act he had attempted, and which had been so fortunately frustrated. His contrition was sincere, and his resolution to lead a better life heartfelt.

His prayers ended, he took off his attire, and, lying down in the little couch in which innocence alone had hitherto reposed, almost instantly fell asleep.

His slumbers were sound, and he had not stirred when Hartley had entered the room on the morrow.

On opening his eyes, Walter could hardly make out where he was; but by degrees the recollection of all that occurred returned to him.

“Don’t think any more of last night,” said Hartley, noticing the pained expression of his countenance. “It’s nearly noon, but if you feel tired I’ll come again later on.”

“Nearly noon!” cried Walter, preparing to spring out of bed. “I ought to have been up hours ago!”

Thereupon, Hartley retired, and his guest proceeded to make his toilette with a care that showed he had not forsaken early habits.

While thus employed he could not help casting his eyes round the chamber, and was more than ever struck by its extreme simplicity and neatness. Everything seemed in its place. It appeared like a profanation to invade such a temple of purity.

On going down-stairs, he found Mrs. Hartley, a middle-aged, matronly woman, decently attired as became her station, and still comely.

It was too late for breakfast, and the cloth was spread for dinner. On the table was a baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes.

Mrs. Hartley greeted him very kindly, and, with great good feeling and good taste, made no allusion to the circumstances that had brought him to the house, though she could not have been ignorant of them. But his appearance prepossessed her in his favour.

“Don’t say a word about being so late, sir,” she observed with a kindly smile. “I’m glad to see you looking so well. You must be content to make breakfast and dinner together to-day, sir.”

While Walter was making a suitable reply, Hartley came in, and seemed quite surprised and delighted at his guest’s improved appearance.

“A few hours’ rest has done wonders with you, Mr. Liddel,” he said. “This is my wife,” he added; “and I will say it to her face, that no man could have a better.”

“A good husband makes a good wife, Joe, as I always tell you,” she replied, smiling. “Pray sit down, sir,” she added, to Walter.

Both Hartley and his guest had good appetites, and a large hole was made in the shoulder of mutton before they had finished their meal. Far from begrudging Walter, Mrs. Hartley seemed pleased.

“Now, Mr. Liddel,” said Hartley, as he laid down his knife and fork, “I must go to my work. The missis will take care of you till my return. We may have company in the evening.”

“I must go and look after some employment,” said Walter.

“Time enough for that to-morrow,” rejoined the mason. “We’ll have some talk together on the subject to-night. Meantime, keep quiet.”

And the worthy fellow went about his business.

Mrs. Hartley showed her guest into the little parlour, and when she had cleared away the things, joined him there, and they had a little chat together; but whatever curiosity she felt, she restrained it.

Limited as was her knowledge of the world, she felt convinced that Walter was a gentleman. She talked to him in a kindly, motherly tone, that soon drew him out.

At last, after beating about the bush, she said, in a straightforward way:

“You must excuse me, sir, if I take upon me to give you advice, but don’t you think you had better go back to your friends?”

“Never!” he replied. “I will never go back to them. If you knew all, you would agree that I have been infamously treated! No, Mrs. Hartley, my resolution is taken. I am down, but I will make my way up in the world. To mount the ladder, one must begin at the lowest step.”

“I approve of your resolution, sir,” she rejoined, kindly; “and if you are determined, you cannot fail of success. You have youth, strength, good looks. I dare say, now,” she added, unable to repress her desire to know something more of him, “I dare say you think you have been wronged?”

“I have had great injustice done me,” he replied. “But you must not ask me any questions, Mrs. Hartley. I shall never speak of what I have been, unless – ”

“You reinstate yourself,” she supplied.

“Exactly, And many years may elapse before I can do that.”

“Ah! you don’t know,” she replied with an encouraging smile. “But you must excuse me. I have got the house to attend to. You may like to see the paper?”

Having spent some little time over the daily paper which she gave him, Walter took up his hat, and went out.

Strolling leisurely along, he came to Lambeth Palace, and standing near the pier at the foot of the bridge, he watched the boats arriving and departing – landing passengers and carrying them away.

The lively scene served to amuse him. Among those who were embarking, he noticed a tall, thin man, dressed in black, whose sharp features were familiar to him.

The individual in question was only just in time, and as soon as he got on board, the boat was cast off, and took its course towards the other side of the river.

It had not gone far, when the tall, thin man, approaching the stern, descried Walter, and almost started at the sight of him.

They remained gazing at each other as long as the steam-boat continued in view, but no sign of recognition passed between them.

The sight of this person, whoever he might be, seemed to awaken a train of painful reflections in Walter’s breast.

He sat down on a bench on the little esplanade, and remained there for some time contemplating the busy scene on the river.

By degrees he recovered his serenity, and it was in a more cheerful frame of mind that he returned to the house in Spencer’s Rents.

III. INTRODUCES MR. TANKARD, MR. LAEKINS, AND MR. PLEDGER DAPP

The tea equipage was set out in the little parlour, and Walter enjoyed a cup of bohea with Mrs. Hartley very much, and passed the evening with her in tranquil converse. He began to feel a great regard for the good dame, and listened to her advice.

Hartley did not return till nearly supper time, and brought with him a friend – a neighbour – whom he introduced as Mr. Tankard.

Rather an important personage in his way was Mr. Tankard – stout, short, red-faced, possessing a rich mellow voice, consequential in manner, and respectably dressed in black. Some of his friends called him “Silver Tankard,” but Hartley took no such liberty. Mr. Tankard had been a butler before setting up in business in the Lambeth Road, where he now kept a large china and glass shop.

Though generally distant and proud, Mr. Tankard unbent towards Walter, and was unusually civil to him.

“I like the looks of that young man,” he observed, in a very loud whisper to Hartley.

Mrs. Hartley deemed it necessary to apologise to Mr. Tankard for the poorness of the supper, and told him if she had expected the honour and pleasure of his company she would have provided something better; but he begged her condescendingly not to mind – “he wasn’t at all partickler.”

Mrs. Hartley knew better. She knew he was exceedingly particular. However, she did the best that circumstances would allow, and as a finish to the rather scanty meal, gave him a dish of stewed cheese, and a jug, not a “tankard,” of ale with a toast in it. With this he was tolerably well satisfied.

After supper, Hartley asked his guest if he would like to smoke, to which proposal Mr. Tankard made no sort of objection. A flask of Scotch whisky was likewise set on the table.

Scarcely were the pipes lighted, when the party was increased by the arrival of Mr. Pledger Dapp and Mr. Larkins, who it seems were expected by Hartley, though he had said nothing about them to his wife.

Pledger Dapp, a brisk little man, was a cook and confectioner in the York Road, and Larkins was a greengrocer in the same neighbourhood, and likewise went out to wait. They worked together with Mr. Tankard, and each recommended his friends whenever he had the opportunity.

More glasses were placed on the table, and more hot water, and everybody was puffing away.

The room was soon so full of smoke that Mrs. Hartley could stand it no longer, and retired to the kitchen.

A great deal of merriment prevailed among the company, and they laughed heartily at each other’s stories. These related chiefly to their customers.

At last, Hartley contrived to bring Walter forward by making a direct allusion to him.

“I want to have your opinion about my young friend, gentlemen,” he observed, taking the pipe from his mouth. “He thinks of joining the cavalry, but I think it is a pity such a fine young man should throw himself away. What do you say, gentlemen?”

After a sip of whisky and water, the person chiefly appealed to replied:

“I think it would be a thousand pities. No doubt he would make a very fine Life Guardsman, but in my opinion, he would do much better as a figure footman.”

“Much better,” echoed Pledger Dapp and Larkins.

“I’m not ashamed to say I began life as a page,” pursued Mr. Tankard; “and you see what I’ve arrived at.”

“It’s no secret that I was a cook in a gentleman’s family before I set up for myself as a confectioner,” said Pledger Dapp.

“And I was a gardener before I became a greengrocer,” said Larkins. And he added, with a laugh, “I’m a gardener now, though no longer in service.”

“Take the advice we all of us give you, sir, and become a footman,” said Tankard. “I’ll answer for it we’ll soon find you a place.”

“But I’ve no qualifications,” replied Walter. “I don’t know the duties – that is, I know what a footman ought to be – ”

“Well, that’s quite enough,” interrupted Pledger Dapp. “You’ll soon learn all the rest.”

“It just occurs to me that Lady Thicknesse, of Belgrave Square, is in want of a footman,” observed Tankard. “That would be a very good thing. It’s a first-rate place.”

“Lady Thicknesse! I think I’ve heard of her,” remarked Walter. “A widow, isn’t she?”

“Widow of Sir Thomas Thicknesse – middle-aged and rich. Besides her town residence, she has got a country house in Cheshire.”

Walter reflected for a few minutes.

The proposition had taken him by surprise. The notion of becoming a flunky amused him vastly, and he could hardly entertain it seriously. However, there seemed to be no difficulty in assuming the part.

The result of his cogitations was that he felt inclined to adopt the expedient, and he told Mr. Tankard so.

“But I cannot offer myself under any false pretence,” he said. “Lady Thicknesse must be made aware that I have never served in this capacity before.”

All his auditors, except Hartley, laughed loudly at his scruples.

“Bless you, my dear fellow, you needn’t be so diffident,” cried Mr. Tankard. “If Lady Thicknesse is satisfied, that’s all you need mind. I’ll set about the business to-morrow. In a week I expect you’ll thank me for my pains.”

“You’ll have a first-rate situation, if you get it, I promise you,” remarked Pledger Dapp.

“Very handsome livery and powder,” observed Larkins.

“Powder!” exclaimed Walter, in dismay. “Is it necessary to wear powder?”

“Indispensable,” replied Tankard. “But you’ll find it very becoming,” he added, with a laugh. “Powder will suit your hair. You’re above six feet in height, eh?”

“Six feet two,” replied Walter.

“Capital!” cried Tankard. “Stay! One thing mustn’t be neglected,” he added, rubbing his chin expressively. “You must get rid of that handsome brown beard.”

“S’death! must I shave?” cried Walter, amid the general merriment.

“Certainly, my dear fellow,” replied Tankard. “Whoever heard of a footman in a beard? Follow my instructions, and you may make yourself quite easy about the place. I’ll engage you shall obtain it.”

“But I’ve not quite decided myself,” said Walter.

“Pooh! nonsense! you can’t do better,” cried Tankard. “Can he, gentlemen?”

Everybody concurred with him in opinion.

Partly in jest, partly in earnest, Walter assented. So much, in fact, was said in favour of the plan, that he began to grow reconciled to it.

As the clock struck eleven, Mrs. Hartley came in, and her appearance was the signal for the breaking up of the party.

While shaking hands with Walter, Mr. Tankard renewed his promises, and said:

“I’m a man of my word. What I say I’ll do. Tomorrow I’ll go to Belgrave Square, and see my friend, Mr. Higgins, Lady Thicknesse’s butler. On my return I’ll call and tell you all about it.”

“Really, Mr. Tankard, you are taking a vast deal of trouble – ”

“Not in the least, my dear fellow!” replied the other. “It is a pleasure to me – a very great pleasure.”

“And if you knew him as well as I do, you’d feel that it must be, or he wouldn’t do it,” observed Hartley, laughing.

In another minute the company were gone, and shortly afterwards the whole of the little household had retired to rest.

Visions of his new life floated before Walter as he laid his head on the pillow. He slept soundly enough, but on awakening next morning he rather regretted the promise he had given.

“I don’t like the idea of turning flunky,” he thought; “but the livery will serve as a disguise.”

IV. SIGEBERT SMART

|Before going out to his work, Hartley had a little talk in private with Walter

Fearing he might be inconvenienced from want of money – having heard him say, at their first meeting on Westminster Bridge, that he had none – the worthy stonemason, with great consideration, volunteered to lend him five pounds, on the simple understanding that this sum was to be repaid when Walter had earned so much wages.

Thus amply provided with funds, Walter sallied forth after breakfast to make a few necessary purchases preparatory to entering upon the situation, should he obtain it – and telling Mrs Hartley what to say to Mr. Tankard, in case that obliging person should call during his absence.

His first business was to seek out a hair-dresser’s shop; and, hearing there were several in the Lambeth Road, he went thither.

He had not proceeded far, when he came to an establishment that bore the name Sigebert Smart, in large gilt letters, above the window, and promised all he desired.

Entering the shop, he perceived two persons – one a showy-looking female, stationed behind a counter laden with pots of pomade, flacons of oil, brushes, sponges, and perfumery; the other, a dapper, fair-complexioned young man, with his blonde hair brushed back from his forehead.

This was Sigebert Smart in person. Having been for a year in Paris, at a large shop in the Rue St. Honoré, he considered himself perfectly versed in all the arts and mysteries of a French coiffeur, and incomparably superior to any of his rivals in the Lambeth Road.

Walter thought the hairdresser stared at him rather inquisitively as he entered the shop; but the man’s manner was perfectly polite, and, on learning his customer’s requirements, he begged him to step into an inner room, communicating by a glass-door with the shop.

“Pray be seated, sir!” said Sigebert, pointing to a well-stuffed arm-chair. “Shaved, I think you said, sir?”

“Shaved!” repeated Walter.

“Before taking the irreparable step,” said Sigebert, placing himself in front of his customer, and regarding him steadfastly, “let me ask if you have reflected?”

“What d’ye mean?” cried Walter, staring at him in surprise.

“Excuse me, sir,” rejoined the hairdresser, “but have you positively determined to part with that magnificent beard?”

“I don’t like to lose it, I confess,” replied Walter. “But I have no choice.”

“That’s hard. Never in my experience have I beheld a finer beard, nor better grown. I shall be loth to cut it.”

“You are pleased to compliment me,” said Walter.

“It is not my habit, sir, I assure you. Generally I am frank to a fault. Apropos des barbes, I will tell you a curious story. A gentleman called here last evening, and inquired whether a very tall young man, dressed in a grey tweed suit, exactly like yours, sir, and having a particularly handsome brown beard, the very ditto of yours, sir, lodged in the Lambeth Road, or hereabouts. I told him I had not remarked any such person; but you, sir, answer precisely to the description. Strange you should put in an appearance next day!”

“That’s why you stared at me so hard when I entered the shop?” cried Walter.

“Couldn’t help it, sir. Quite startled.”

“And now for a description of the individual who has taken the liberty to inquire about me?” said Walter.

“Tall, thin, sharp features; long, straight nose; professional-looking,” replied Sigebert.

“I know him,” said Walter. “I saw him yesterday.”

“At Lambeth Pier; he said he caught sight of you there. He appears most anxious to find you, and has been making inquiries about you in the neighbourhood.”

“Did he mention any name?”

“No; he was exceedingly reserved on that point. But I think he’ll call again.”

“I’ve no especial desire to see him. But now to work.”

“Must I really commit this outrage?” cried Sige-bert, flourishing his scissors. “My soul revolts at the deed.”

Walter, however, insisted, and, in a very few minutes, his luxuriant beard had vanished, and his cheeks and chin were perfectly smooth.

He had just got up from the arm-chair, when the glass-door opened, and a tall man came in.

“You have found your friend at last, sir,” cried Sigebert, on beholding him. “I suppose my wife told you he was here?”

“She did,” replied the other.

Walter, however, did not seem willing to acknowledge the intruder as a friend, but drew himself up, and regarded him sternly – almost angrily.

“Perhaps I had better retire, gentlemen,” said Sigebert. “You may wish to have a little private converse.”

With this, he went out, but we rather fancy the door was left slightly ajar.

“How is it that you have presumed to follow me about in this way?” asked Walter, in an offended tone.

“You must forgive me, sir. I saw you yesterday, and have searched for you here to-day. It is my earnest desire to induce you to return to your relatives and friends. They feared something terrible had happened to you.”

“They need not trouble themselves about me,” rejoined Walter. “I shall not trouble myself about them.”

“But I have certain propositions to make to you.”

“I reject all propositions. It is useless to talk to me.”

“I have, also, a sum of money at your disposal. Will you not receive it?”

“If it comes from a particular quarter, and as an allowance, no!”

“Permit me to say, sir,” remarked the tall gentleman in a grave tone, “that you are acting very injudiciously, and are throwing away a great piece of good fortune. All can be easily put to rights if you will only allow me to do it. And there are many other advantages that might accrue to you, to which I cannot now more particularly advert.”

“I am the best judge of what concerns myself, sir.”

“I don’t think so,” rejoined the other. “You seem obstinately bent upon pursuing a wrong course. Have you any debts?”

“None!”

“Any liabilities?”

“None!”

“Then why not assume your proper position? You will have every aid. I understand your objections, and though I deem them ridiculous, I shall not attempt to combat them at this moment. But there are friends willing and anxious to assist you. Amongst others,” he added, lowering his voice, “Sir Bridgnorth Charlton.”

“Sir Bridgnorth is an excellent man – one in a thousand!”

“Then you cannot distrust him?”

“I do not distrust him! On the contrary, I have entire confidence in him! He is a gentleman and a man of honour!”

“Let him have the management of your affairs.”

“Do you come from Sir Bridgnorth?”

“Sir Bridgnorth is not certain you are alive. He fears you have committed suicide. It will be a great satisfaction to him and several others to learn that you have not executed your fell purpose.”

“Suffer them to remain in ignorance. I would rather they supposed me dead. Keep this secret for me, I beg of you. It is the sole favour you can do me. I will reappear at the proper time.”

“But, meanwhile, you will make several persons very unhappy – your sister, who has the greatest affection for you, as I can testify – and Miss Barfleur.”

“Miss Barfleur!” exclaimed Walter, starting. “She has no interest in me.”

“You are mistaken,” replied the other. “Sir Leycester Barfleur having recently died, she is now a great heiress.”

“The very reason why she should not think of me.”

“Don’t despair! Make your appearance!”

“I have said I will appear at the proper time – not before.”

“Won’t you give me any idea of your projects?”

“No.”

“Do you want money? I am ready to advance it to you.”

“I want none.”

“Then our interview is at an end.”

“Once more, I must ask you not to mention that you have seen me.”

“I cannot consent to keep those persons who are attached to you in doubt – nor ought you to ask it. If, for reasons of your own, you choose to live in concealment and under a feigned name, however I may regret your determination, I shall not attempt to interfere with it. But I am persuaded you will speedily change your mind.”

“If I do, I’ll write to you.”

“No; write to Sir Bridgnorth. He is searching for you. He ought to have a letter. Address him at the ‘Grosvenor Hotel.’ He is now in town.”

“I will do it. Before we separate, give me your word that you won’t follow me, nor attempt to find out my abode. You will gain nothing by the discovery.”

“I give you my word,” replied the other. “Enough,” said Walter. “I thank you heartily for the trouble you have taken about me. Adieu!”

On issuing forth into the shop, Walter found the hairdresser standing rather suspiciously near the glass-door. But he seemed to have some employment at the counter. Walter, however, could not help remarking that Sigebert’s manner towards him seemed more respectful than it had been.

As he received payment for the task he had performed, the hairdresser exclaimed:

“Ah, sir, I fear you’ll regret the loss of your beard. Your best friend wouldn’t recognise you – you’re so much changed. But don’t lay the blame on me. I did my best to dissuade you.”

As he bowed the young man out, he looked after him for a moment, and saw that he proceeded towards the bridge, whereupon the wily Sigebert made a significant gesture to his wife as he returned.

At this juncture, the tall, professional-looking gentleman came forth, and having nothing to pay, merely offered his thanks as he went out.

A hansom cab chancing to pass at the moment, he immediately got into it, and ordered the driver to go to the “Grosvenor Hotel.”

Meanwhile, Sigebert, having divested himself of his apron and put on a hat, nodded to his wife, and followed Walter, who was not yet out of sight – his tall figure rendering him easily distinguishable.