The Fortunes of Nigel

charm which had thus arrested old Trapbois, by shutting the lid of the casket, when his attention was withdrawn from him by the question of the messenger, who, holding out the letter, asked whether he was to leave it at Mr. Lowestoffe's chambers in the Temple, or carry it to the Marshalsea?

'The Marshalsea?' repeated Lord Glenvarloch; 'what of the Marshalsea?'

'Why, sir,' said the man, 'the poor gentleman is laid up there in lavender, because, they say, his own kind heart led him to scald his fingers with another man's broth.'

Nigel hastily snatched back the letter, broke the seal, joined to the contents his earnest entreaty that he might be instantly acquainted with the cause of his confinement, and added, that, if it arose out of his own unhappy affair, it would be of a brief duration, since he had, even before hearing of a reason which so peremptorily demanded that he should surrender himself, adopted the resolution to do so, as the manliest and most proper course which his ill fortune and imprudence had left in his own power. He therefore conjured Mr. Lowestoffe to have no delicacy upon this score, but, since his surrender was what he had determined upon as a sacrifice due to his own character, that he would have the frankness to mention in what manner it could be best arranged, so as to extricate him, Lowestoffe, from the restraint to which the writer could not but fear his friend had been subjected, on account of the generous interest which he had taken in his concerns. The letter concluded, that the writer would suffer twenty-four hours to elapse in expectation of hearing from him, and, at the end of that period, was determined to put his purpose in execution. He delivered the billet to the messenger, and, enforcing his request with a piece of money, urged him, without a moment's delay, to convey it to the hands of Master Lowestoffe.

'I—I—I—will carry it to him myself,' said the old usurer, 'for half the consideration.'

The man who heard this attempt to take his duty and perquisites over his head, lost no time in pocketing the money, and departed on his errand as fast as he could.

'Master Trapbois,' said Nigel, addressing the old man somewhat impatiently, 'had you any particular commands for me?'

'I—I—came to see if you rested well,' answered the old man; 'and—if I could do anything to serve you, on any consideration.'

'Sir, I thank you,' said Lord Glenvarloch—I thank you;' and, ere he could say more, a heavy footstep was heard on the stair.

'My God!' exclaimed the old man, starting up—'Why, Dorothy—char- woman—why, daughter,—draw bolt, I say, housewives—the door hath been left a-latch!'

The door of the chamber opened wide, and in strutted the portly bulk of the military hero whom Nigel had on the preceding evening in vain endeavoured to recognise.

CHAPTER XXIII

SWASH-BUCKLER. Bilboe's the word—
PIERROT. It hath been spoke too often,
The spell hath lost its charm—I tell thee, friend,
The meanest cur that trots the street, will turn,
And snarl against your proffer'd bastinado.
SWASH-BUCKLER. 'Tis art shall do it, then—I will dose the mongrels—
Or, in plain terms, I'll use the private knife
'Stead of the brandish'd falchion.

Old Play.

The noble Captain Colepepper or Peppercull, for he was known by both these names, and some others besides; had a martial and a swashing exterior, which, on the present occasion, was rendered yet more peculiar, by a patch covering his left eye and a part of the cheek. The sleeves of his thickset velvet jerkin were polished and shone with grease,—his buff gloves had huge tops, which reached almost to the elbow; his sword-belt of the same materials extended its breadth from his haunchbone to his small ribs, and supported on the one side his large black-hilted back-sword, on the other a dagger of like proportions He paid his compliments to Nigel with that air of predetermined effrontery, which announces that it will not be repelled by any coldness of reception, asked Trapbois how he did, by the familiar title of old Peter Pillory, and then, seizing upon the black- jack, emptied it off at a draught, to the health of the last and youngest freeman of Alsatia, the noble and loving master Nigel Grahame.

When he had set down the empty pitcher and drawn his breath, he began to criticise the liquor which it had lately contained.—'Sufficient single beer, old Pillory—and, as I take it, brewed at the rate of a nutshell of malt to a butt of Thames—as dead as a corpse, too, and yet it went hissing down my throat—bubbling, by Jove, like water upon hot iron.—You left us early, noble Master Grahame, but, good faith, we had a carouse to your honour—we heard butt ring hollow ere we parted; we were as loving as inkle-weavers—we fought, too, to finish off the gawdy. I bear some marks of the parson about me, you see—a note of the sermon or so, which should have been addressed to my ear, but missed its mark, and reached my left eye. The man of God bears my sign-manual too, but the Duke made us friends again, and it cost me more sack than I could carry, and all the Rhenish to boot, to pledge the seer in the way of love and reconciliation—But, Caracco! 'tis a vile old canting slave for all that, whom I will one day beat out of his devil's livery into all the colours of the rainbow.—Basta!—Said I well, old Trapbois? Where is thy daughter, man?—what says she to my suit?—'tis an honest one—wilt have a soldier for thy son-in-law, old Pillory, to mingle the soul of martial honour with thy thieving, miching, petty-larceny blood, as men put bold brandy into muddy ale?'

'My daughter receives not company so early, noble captain,' said the usurer, and concluded his speech with a dry, emphatical 'ugh, ugh.'

'What, upon no con-si-de-ra-ti-on?' said the captain; and wherefore not, old Truepenny? she has not much time to lose in driving her bargain, methinks.'

'Captain,' said Trapbois, 'I was upon some little business with our noble friend here, Master Nigel Green— ugh, ugh, ugh—'

'And you would have me gone, I warrant you?' answered the bully; 'but patience, old Pillory, thine hour is not yet come, man—You see,' he said, pointing to the casket, 'that noble Master Grahame, whom you call Green, has got the decuses and the smelt.'

Which you would willingly rid him of, ha! ha!—ugh, ugh,' answered the usurer, 'if you knew how—but, lack- a-day! thou art one of those that come out for wool, and art sure to go home shorn. Why now, but that I am sworn against laying of wagers, I would risk some consideration that this honest guest of mine sends thee home penniless, if thou darest venture with him—ugh, ugh—at any game which gentlemen play at.'

'Marry, thou hast me on the hip there, thou old miserly cony-catcher!' answered the captain, taking a bale of dice from the sleeve of his coat; 'I must always keep company with these damnable doctors, and they have made me every baby's cully, and purged my purse into an atrophy; but never mind, it passes the time as well as aught else—How say you, Master Grahame?'

The fellow paused; but even the extremity of his impudence could scarcely hardly withstand the cold look of utter contempt with which Nigel received his proposal, returning it with a simple, 'I only play where I know my company, and never in the morning.'

'Cards may be more agreeable,' said Captain Colepepper; 'and, for knowing your company, here is honest old Pillory will tell you Jack Colepepper plays as truly on the square as e'er a man that trowled a die—Men talk of high and low dice, Fulhams and bristles, topping, knapping, slurring, stabbing, and a hundred ways of rooking