"Of course I do," replied Mac Chizzle: "I can see as far into a brick wall as any one."
"Well, it's of no use argufying the pint," said the butler, after a moment's pause. "Here is Mr. Monroe's address: perhaps when you have seen him, you will arrive at new inclusions."
Mr. Whittingham then took leave of the solicitor, and proceeded to Bond Street.
Within a few yards of the house in which Mrs. Arlington resided, the butler ran against an individual who, with his hat perched jauntily on his right ear, was lounging along.
"Holloa, you fellow!" ejaculated Mr. Thomas Sugget—for it was he—"what do you mean by coming bolt agin a gen'leman in that kind of way?"
"Oh! my dear sir," cried Whittingham, "is that you? I am raly perforated with delight to see you."
Mr. Suggett gave a good long stare at Mr. Whittingham, and then exclaimed "Oh! it is you—is it? Well, I must say that your legs are in a very unfinished condition."
"How, sir—how?" demanded the irritated butler.
"Why, they want a pair of fetters, to be sure," said Suggett; and breaking into a horse-laugh, he passed rapidly on.
Whittingham felt humiliated; and the knock that he gave at the door of Diana's lodgings was sneaking and subdued. In a few minutes, however, he was ushered into a back room on the first floor, where Mrs. Arlington received him.
"Here is a letter, ma'am, which I was to deliver only into your own indentical hand."
"Is it—is it from your master?" demanded the Enchantress.
"It is, ma'am."
"Where is Mr. Markham?" asked Diana, receiving the letter with a trembling hand.
"He is now in Bow-street Police-Office, ma'am: in the course of the day he will be in Newgate;"—and the old butler wiped away a tear.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Diana; "then it is really too true!"
She immediately tore open the letter, and ran her eye over the contents, which were as follow:—
"The villany of one of the individuals with whom you are constantly associating, and in whom it has been my misfortune to place unlimited confidence, will perhaps involve you in an embarrassment similar to the one in which I am now placed. I cannot, I do not for one moment imagine that you are in any way conversant with their vile schemes:—I can read your heart; I know that you would scorn such a confederacy. Your frankness, your candour are in your favour: your countenance, which is engraven upon my memory, and which I behold at this moment as if it were really before me, forbids all suspicions injurious to your honour. Take a timely warning, then: take warning from one who wishes you well: and dissolve the connexion ere it be too late.
"R. M."
"When shall you see your master again?" enquired Diana of the butler, after the perusal of this letter.
"To-morrow, ma'am—with the blessing of God."
"My compliments to him—my very best remembrances," said Mrs. Arlington; "and I feel deeply grateful for this communication."
Whittingham bowed, and rose to depart.
"And," added Diana, after a moment's pause, "if there be anything in which my humble services can be made available, pray do not hesitate to come to me. Indeed, I hope you will call—often—and let me know how this unfortunate business proceeds."
"Then you don't believe that Master Richard is capable of this obliquity, madam?" cried the butler.
"Oh! no—impossible!" said Diana emphatically.
"Thank 'ee, ma'am, thank 'ee," exclaimed Whittingham: "you have done my poor old heart good. God bless you, ma'am—God bless you!"
And with these words the faithful dependant took his departure, not a little delighted to think that there was at least one person in the world who believed in the innocence of "Master Richard." In fact, the kindness of Diana's manner and the sincerity with which she had expressed herself on that point, effectually wiped away from the mind of the butler the reminiscences of Mac Chizzle's derogatory suspicions, and Suggett's impertinence.
After a few minutes' profound reflection, Diana returned to the drawing-room, where Sir Rupert Harborough, Mr. Chichester, and Talbot were seated.
Her fine countenance wore an expression of melancholy seriousness; and there was a nervous movement of the under lip that denoted the existence of powerful emotions in her bosom.
"Well, Di.," exclaimed the baronet; "you seem annoyed."
"You will be surprised, gentlemen, when I inform you who has been here," she said, resuming her seat upon the sofa.
"Indeed!" cried Chichester, turning pale: "who could it be?"
"Not an officer, I hope?" exclaimed the baronet.
"The chimley-sweeps, perhaps," suggested Mr. Talbot.
"A person from Mr. Markham," said Diana, seriously. "By his appearance I should conceive him to be the faithful old servant of his family, of whom I have heard him speak."
"Whittingham, I'll be bound!" ejaculated Chichester. "And what did he want?"
"He brought me a letter from his master," returned Diana. "You may read it, if you please."
And she tossed it contemptuously towards Chichester.
"Read out," cried Talbot.
Mr. Chichester read the letter aloud, as he was requested.
"And what makes the young spark write to you in that d——d impudent and familiar style?" demanded the baronet, angrily.
"You cannot but admit that his letter is couched in a most friendly manner," said the lady, somewhat bitterly.
"Friendly be hanged!" cried the baronet. "I dare say you feel a most profound and sisterly sympathy for the young gaol-bird. After all, your profuse expenditure and extravagance helped to involve me in no end of pecuniary trouble; and I was compelled to have recourse to any means to obtain money. Somebody must suffer;—better Markham than any one of us."
"You do well, sir, to reproach me for being the cause of your embarrassments," answered Diana, her countenance becoming almost purple with indignation. "Have I not basely lent these rooms to your purposes, and acted as an attraction to the young men whom you have inveigled here to plunder at cards? I have never forgiven myself for the weakness which prompted me thus far to enter into your schemes. But when you informed me of your plans relative to the forged notes, I protested vehemently against so atrocious a measure. Indeed, had it not been for your solemn assurance that you had abandoned the idea—at all events so far as it concerned Markham—I would have placed him upon his guard—in spite of your threats, your menaces, your remonstrances!"
Diana had warmed as she proceeded; and by the time she reached the end of her reply to the baronet's villanous speech, she had worked herself up almost into a fury of rage and indignation. Her bosom heaved convulsively—her eyes dilated; and her lips expressed ineffable scorn.
"Perdition!" exclaimed the baronet: "the world is coming to a pretty pass when one's own mistress undertakes to give lessons in morality."
"A desperate necessity, sir," retorted Diana, "made me your mistress;—but I would sooner seek an asylum at the workhouse this moment, than become a partner in villany of this stamp."
"And, as far as I care," said the baronet, "you may go to the workhouse as soon as you choose."
With these words he rose and put on his hat.
Diana was about to answer this last brutal speech; but she determined not to provoke a discussion which only exposed her to the insolence of