me to her presence, and in a voice of thunder
said, "Strip off these masqueradings, Potts, I
know the whole story." "Ay, but," thought I,
"she cannot do so; of me and my antecedents
she knows positively nothing." "Halt there!"
interposes Conscience; "it is quite enough to
pronounce the coin base without being able to
say at what mint it was fabricated. She knows
you, Potts, she knows you!"

There is one great evil in castle-building,
and I have thought very long and anxiously,
and I must own fruitlessly, over how to meet it:
it is that one never can get a lease of the
ground to build on. One is always, like an Irish
cottier, a tenant at will, likely to be turned out
at a moment's notice, and dispossessed without
pity or compassion. The same language applies
to each: "You know well, my good fellow, you
had no right to be there; pack up and be off!"
It's no use saying that it was a bit of waste
land unfenced and untilled; that, until you took
it in hand, it was overgrown with nettles and
duckweed; that you dispossessed no one, and
such-like." The answer is still the same,
"Where's your title? Where's your lease?"

Now, I am curious to hear what injury I was
inflicting on that old woman at No. 12 by any
self-deceptions of mine? Could the most
exaggerated estimate I might form of myself, my
present, or my future, in any degree affect her?
Who constituted her a sort of ambulatory
conscience, to call people's hearts to account at a
moment's notice? It may be seen by the tone of
these reflections, that I was fully impressed with
the belief that through some channel, or by some
clue, Mrs. Keats knew all my history, and intended
to use her knowledge tyrannically over me.

Oh, that I could only retaliate! Oh, that I
had only the veriest fragment of her past life,
out of which to construct her whole story. Just
as out of a mastodon's molar Cuvier used to
build up the whole monster, never omitting a rib,
nor forgetting a vertebra! How I should like
to say to her, and with a most significant sigh, "I
knew poor Keats well!" Could I not make even
these simple words convey a world of accusation,
blended with bitter sorrow and regret?

François again, and on the same errand.
"Say, I am coming; that I have only finished a
hasty breakfast, and that I am coming this
instant," cried I. Nor was it very easy for me to
repress the more impatient expressions which
struggled for utterance, particularly as I saw, or
fancied I saw, the fellow pass his hand over his
mouth to hide a grin at my expense.

"Is Miss Herbert up-stairs?"

"No, sir, she is in the garden."

This was so far pleasant. I dreaded the
thought of her presence at this interview, and I
felt that punishment within the precincts of the
gaol was less terrible than on the drop before
the populace; and with this consoling reflection
I mounted the stairs.

                      CHAPTER XIX.

I KNOCKED twice before I heard the permission
to enter; but scarcely had I closed the
door behind me, than the old lady advanced, and
curtseying to me with a manner of most
reverential politeness, said, "When you learn, sir,
that my conduct has been dictated in the interest
of your safety, you will, I am sure, graciously
pardon many apparent rudenesses in my manner
towards you, and only see in them, my zeal to
serve you."

I could only bow to a speech, not one syllable
of which was in the least intelligible to me.
She conducted me courteously to a seat, and
only took her own after I was seated.

"I feel, sir," said she, "that there will be no
end to our embarrassments if I do not go
straight to my object and say at once that I
know you. I tell you frankly, sir, that my
brother did not betray your secret. The instincts
of his calling—to him second nature—were
stronger than fraternal love, and all he said to
me was, 'Martha, I have found a gentleman
who is going south, and who, without
inconvenience, can see you safely as far as Como.' I
implicitly accepted his words, and agreed to set
out immediately. I suspected nothing—I knew
nothing. It was only before going down to dinner
that the paragraph in the Courrier du Dimanche
met my eye, and as I read it, I thought I should
have fainted. My first determination was not
to appear at dinner. I felt that something or
other in my manner would betray my knowledge
of your secret. My next was to go down and
behave with more than usual sharpness. You
may have remarked that I was very abrupt,
almost, shall I say, rude?"

I tried to enter a dissent to this, but did not
succeed so happily as I meant; but she
resumed:

"At any cost, however, sir, I determined that
I alone should be the depositary of your
confidence. Miss Herbert is to me a comparative
stranger; she is, besides, very young; she would
be in no wise a suitable person to entrust with
such a secret, and so I said, I will pretend
illness, and remain here for a day; I will make
some pretext of dissatisfaction about the
expense of the journey; I will affect to have had
some passing difference, and he can thus leave
us ere he be discovered. Not that I desire this,
sir, far from it; this is the brightest episode in a
long life. I never imagined that I should have
enjoyed such an honour; but I have only to
think of your safety, and if an old woman,
unobservant, and unremarking as myself, could
penetrate your disguise, why not others more
keen-sighted and inquisitive? Don't you agree
with me?"

"There is much force in what you say,
madam," said I, with dignity, "and your words
touch me profoundly." I thought this a happy
expression, for it conveyed a sort of grand
condescension that seemed to hit off the occasion.

"You would never guess how I recognised
you, sir," said she.

"Never, madam." I could have given my
oath to this, if required.

"Well," said she, with a bland smile, "it
was from the resemblance to your mother!"