"I had but to scrawl a line or two with my pen, the very first day that I saw you at the shop of Mr. Tag-rag--and there, sir--or in some similar hole--you would have been at this moment!" replied Gammon, with a sudden sternness which quite overawed t.i.tmouse; totally losing sight, however, of the very different account of the matter which he had given t.i.tmouse five minutes before; but the very best and most experienced liars have short memories. Here it was, however, _Liar_ v. _Fool_; and the latter did not perceive the slip made by his adversary--who, however, suddenly became aware of his little inconsistency, and colored.

"You'll excuse me, sir," quoth t.i.tmouse, presently; and with an air which was becoming momentarily more timid and doubtful--"but _will_ you, if all this isn't a bottle of smoke, tell me how you can _prove_ it all?

Because, you know, it isn't only _saying_ the thing that will do--you know, Mr. Gammon?"

"Certainly--certainly! You are quite right, Mr. t.i.tmouse! Nothing can be more reasonable! Your curiosity shall be gratified. Aware that your natural acuteness, my dear sir, would in all probability prompt you to make the very observation you have now made, I have provided myself with the two princ.i.p.al doc.u.ments, and you shall see them; though I doubt whether you will at first sight understand them, or appreciate their importance; but, if you desire it, I will fully explain them to you."

With this he produced his pocket-book, and took out carefully two small pieces of paper, folded up, which, after a very brief preliminary explanation which made t.i.tmouse tremble from head to foot, and no longer disbelieve the representations of Gammon, he unfolded and read--t.i.tmouse looking affrightedly over his shoulder.

"Do I know the hand-writing?" he inquired faintly.

"Probably not," replied Gammon.

"It's a devilish queer sort of writing, and precious little of it"----

"It _is_, and when you consider"----

"Are both in the same handwriting?" inquired t.i.tmouse, taking them into his tremulous hand; while Gammon observed that his countenance indicated the despair which had taken possession of him.

"That cursed curtain is so much in the light," said t.i.tmouse, looking up; and going towards it, as if to draw it aside, he started suddenly away from Gammon, and with frenzied gestures tore the little papers to pieces with inconceivable rapidity, and flung them out of the window, where a brisk breeze instantly took them up, and scattered them abroad--the glistening fragments--never to be again reunited.

Having performed this astounding feat, he instantly turned round, and leaning his back against the window, gazed at Gammon with a desperate air of mingled apprehension and triumph, but spoke not a word. Nor did Gammon; but--oh the dreadful look with which he regarded t.i.tmouse while slowly approaching towards him! who, stepping aside, as Gammon advanced, reached the cabinet, and with desperate rapidity threw open the door, and, as if the devil had been waiting his bidding, in a moment turned round upon Gammon with a pistol.

"So help me G.o.d, I'll fire!" gasped t.i.tmouse, c.o.c.king and presenting it--"I will--I WILL--_One!_--_Two!_--For G.o.d's sake! be off!--It's loaded, and no mistake!--If I say _Th_--I'll fire, if I'm hanged for it!"

"b.o.o.by! You may put your pistol down, sir!" said Gammon, calmly and resolutely, a contemptuous smile pa.s.sing over his whitened features.

"Demme!--distance!--Keep your distance!" cried t.i.tmouse, his voice quivering with agitation.

"Ridiculous simpleton!--You poor rogue!" said Gammon, laughingly. There was, however, _murder_ in his smile; and t.i.tmouse instinctively perceived it. He kept his deadly weapon pointed full at Gammon's breast, but his hand trembled violently. 'T was wonderful that some chance motion of the shaking finger of t.i.tmouse, did not send a bullet through Mr. Gammon's heart.

He stood, for a minute or two, gazing steadfastly, and without moving, at t.i.tmouse; and then, shrugging his shoulders, with a bitter smile returned to his chair, and resumed his seat. t.i.tmouse, however, refused to follow his example.

"So help me G.o.d, sir! I will not hurt a hair of your head," said Gammon, earnestly. Still t.i.tmouse remained at the window, pistol in hand. "Why should I hurt you? What have you _now_ to fear, you little idiot?" inquired Gammon, impatiently. "Do you, then, really think you have injured me? Do you positively think me so great a fool, my friend, as really to have trusted you with the precious originals, of which those were only the copies?--Copies which I can replace in a minute or two's time! The originals, believe me, are far away, and safe enough under lock and key!"

"I--I--I don't believe you," gasped t.i.tmouse, dropping the hand that held the pistol, and speaking in a truly dismal tone.

"That does not signify, my excellent little rogue," said Gammon, with an infernal smile, "if the _fact_ be so. That you are a fool, you must by this time even yourself begin to suspect; and you surely _can't_ doubt that you are something like an arrant villain after what has just taken place? Eh? 'T was a bright idea truly--well conceived and boldly executed. I give you all the credit for it; and it is only your misfortune that it was not successful. So let us now return to business.

Unc.o.c.k your pistol--replace it in your cabinet, and resume your seat; or in one minute's time I leave you, and go direct to Lord Dreddlington; and if so, you had better use that pistol in blowing out your _own_ brains--if you have any."

t.i.tmouse, after a moment or two's pause of irresolution, pa.s.sively obeyed--very nearly on the point of crying aloud with disappointment and impotent rage; and he and Gammon were presently again sitting opposite to one another.

Gammon was cold and collected--yet must it not have cost him a prodigious effort? Though he had told t.i.tmouse that they were _copies_ only which he had destroyed, they were, nevertheless, the ORIGINALS, which, with such an incredible indiscretion, he had trusted into the hands of t.i.tmouse; they were the ORIGINALS which t.i.tmouse had just scattered to the winds; and who, in so doing, had suddenly--but unknowingly--broken to pieces the wand of the enchanter who had long exercised over him so mysterious and despotic an authority!--How comes it, that we not unfrequently find men of the profoundest craft, just at the very crisis of their fortunes, thus unexpectedly, irretrievably, and incredibly committing themselves? In the present instance, the only satisfactory way of accounting for Mr. Gammon's indiscretion, would seem to be by referring it to a sense of security engendered by his utter contempt for t.i.tmouse.

"Are you _now_ satisfied, Mr. t.i.tmouse, that you are completely at my mercy, and at the same time totally undeserving of it?" said Gammon, speaking in a low and earnest tone, and with much of his former kindness of manner. To an observant eye, however, what was at that moment the real expression in that of Gammon? Soothing and gentle as was his voice, he felt as if he could instantly have destroyed the audacious little miscreant before him. But he proceeded with wonderful self-command--"Do not, my dear t.i.tmouse, madly make me your enemy--your enemy for life--but rather your friend--your watchful and powerful friend and protector, whose every interest is identified with your own. Remember all that I have done and sacrificed for you--how I have racked my brain for you day and night--always relying upon your ultimate grat.i.tude. Oh, the endless scheming I have had to practise, to conceal your fatal secret--and of which you shall ere long know more! During these last two years have I not ruinously neglected my own interests, to look after yours?"

Gammon paused, and abruptly added--"I have but to lift my finger, and this splendid dressing-gown of yours, my poor t.i.tmouse, is exchanged for a prison-jacket"----

"Oh Lord! oh Lord! oh Lord!" suddenly exclaimed t.i.tmouse, with a shudder--"I wish I were dead and forgotten! oh Lord! what shall I do?

'Pon my _soul_"--he struck his forehead with some violence--"I'm going mad"----

"Consider, Mr. t.i.tmouse, calmly, how reasonable and moderate is my offer"--proceeded Gammon; who now and then, however, experienced changes of color, on the sudden recurrence of a sense of his last misfortune.

"Here's Lady Cicely to have 3,000 a-year," pa.s.sionately interposed t.i.tmouse.

"Not till after your death, my dear sir"----

"Then she shall have it directly; for curse me if I don't kill myself!"----

"Then she would never have a farthing--for I should instantly produce the real heir"----

"Yah!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, uttering a sound like the sharp, furious bark of a cur, foiled at all points. He threw himself on the sofa, and folded his arms on his breast, compressing them, as it were, with convulsive vehemence.

"Do not excite yourself, Mr. t.i.tmouse--you are still one of the most fortunate men upon earth, to have fallen into hands like mine, I can a.s.sure you! You will still enjoy a truly splendid income--little short of nine thousand a-year--for I will undertake to raise the Yatton rental, within a few short months, to twelve or thirteen thousand a-year, as I have often told you--I have explained to you over and over again, how absurdly under their value they were let in the time of"----

"And you've perhaps forgotten that I've borrowed nearly fifty thousand pounds--that costs nothing, I suppose!"

"Well, certainly, you must be a little careful for a year or two, that's all"----

"Demme, sir!--I must give up my _yacht_!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, desperately, snapping his thumb and finger vehemently at Gammon.

"Yes--or Yatton," replied Gammon, sternly. "After all--what more shall I be than a sort of steward of yours?"

"I don't want one," interrupted t.i.tmouse; and, starting from the sofa, walked to the window, where he stood with his back turned towards Gammon, and crying! Gammon eyed him for several minutes in silence; and then slowly approaching him, tapped him briskly on the shoulder.

t.i.tmouse started. "Come, sir--you have now, I hope, relieved your small feelings, and must attend to me--and be prompt, too, sir! The time for trifling, and playing the baby, or the girl, is gone. Hark you, sir!--yield me my terms, or this very day I spring a mine under your feet, you little villain! that shall blow you into ten thousand atoms, and scatter them wider than ever you scattered just now those bits of worthless paper! Do you hear that?" As he said this, he took hold of the collar of t.i.tmouse's dressing-gown, which t.i.tmouse felt to be grasped by a hand, tightening momentarily. t.i.tmouse made no reply; but gazed at Gammon with a countenance full of distress and terror.

"Pause," continued Gammon, in a low vehement tone and manner, "and you are lost--stripped of this gaudy dress--turned out of this splendid house into the streets, or a prison!--If I quit this room--and I will not wait much longer--without your plain and written consent to my terms, I shall go direct to my Lord Dreddlington, and tell him the obscure and base-born impostor that has crept"----

"Oh, Mr. Gammon--Mr. Gammon! have mercy on me!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, shaking like an aspen-leaf--at length realizing the terrible extent of danger impending over him.

"Have mercy on yourself!" rejoined Gammon, sternly.

"I will!--I'll do all you ask--I will, so help me----!"

"I'm glad to hear it!" said Gammon, relaxing his hold of t.i.tmouse; and, in a voice of returning kindness, adding--"Oh, t.i.tmouse, t.i.tmouse! how fearful would be the scene--when your n.o.ble father-in-law--alas! you must have quitted the country! His Lordship would have instantly divorced you from the Lady Cecilia!"

"You can't think how I love Lady Cicely!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, in a broken voice.

"Ay--but would she love _you_, if she knew who and what you were?"

"Oh Lord! oh Lord! I love Lady Cicely! I love Lady Cicely!"

"Then get pen, ink, and paper, if you would not lose her forever!"

"Here they are, Mr. Gammon!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, hastily stepping to his desk which lay on the table; and with tremulous eagerness he got out a quire of writing-paper and took a pen. "Suppose _you_ write, Mr.

Gammon," said he, suddenly--"my hand trembles so! Lord! I feel so sick, I'll sign anything you like!"

"Perhaps it would be better," replied Gammon, sitting down, and dipping his pen into the inkstand; "it may save time." He commenced writing; and, as he went on, said at intervals--"Yes, t.i.tmouse! Thank G.o.d, all is now over! It shall no longer be in Lord Dreddlington's power--no, nor any one's--to beggar you--to transport you--to take your n.o.ble wife from you"----