Michael Vanstone—which is of no earthly
consequence: mischief to me which is a truly
serious matter.

VII.
[Chronicle for March.]
After performing at Sheffield and Manchester,
we have moved to Liverpool, Preston, and
Lancaster. Another change in this weathercock of a
girl! She has written no more letters to Michael
Vanstone; and she has become as anxious to
make money as I am myself. We are realising
large profits, and we are worked to death. I
don't like this change in her: she has a purpose
to answer, or she would not show such extraordinary
eagerness to fill her purse. Nothing I can
do—no cooking of accounts; no self-presented
testimonials—can keep that purse empty. The
success of the Entertainment, and her own sharpness
in looking after her interests, literally force
me into a course of comparative honesty. She
puts into her pocket more than a third of the
profits, in defiance of my most arduous exertions
to prevent her. And this at my age! this after
my long and successful career as a moral
agriculturist! Marks of admiration are very little
things; but they express my feelings, and I put
them in freely.

VIII.
[Chronicle for April and May.]
We have visited seven more large towns, and
are now at Birmingham. Consulting my Books,
I find that Miss Vanstone has realised by the
Entertainment, up to this time, the enormous
sum of nearly four hundred pounds. It is quite
possible that my own profits may reach one or two
miserable hundreds more. But I am the architect
of her fortunes—the publisher, so to speak,
of her book—and, if anything, I am underpaid.

I made the above discovery on the twenty-ninth
of the month—anniversary of the Restoration
of my royal predecessor in the field of human
sympathy, Charles the Second. I had barely
finished locking up my despatch box—when
the ungrateful girl, whose reputation I have
made, came into the room; and told me in so
many words, that the business-connexion between
us was for the present at an end.

I attempt no description of my own sensations:
I merely record facts. She informed me, with an
appearance of perfect composure, that she needed
rest, and that she had "new objects in view."
She might possibly want me to assist those
objects; and she might possibly return to the
Entertainment. In either case, it would be
enough if we exchanged addresses, at which we
could write to each other, in case of need.
Having no desire to leave me too abruptly, she
would remain the next day (which was Sunday);
and would take her departure on Monday morning.
Such was her explanation, in so many
words.

Remonstrance, as I knew by experience, would
be thrown away. Authority I had none to exert.
My one sensible course to take in this emergency
was to find out which way my own interests
pointed—and to go that way without a moment's
unnecessary hesitation.

A very little reflection has since convinced me
that she has a deep-laid scheme against Michael
Vanstone in view. She is young, handsome,
clever, and unscrupulous; she has made money
to live on, and has time at her disposal to find
out the weak side of an old man; and she is
going to attack Mr. Michael Vanstone unawares
with the legitimate weapons of her sex. Is
she likely to want me for such a purpose as this?
Doubtful. Is she merely anxious to get rid of
me on easy terms? Probable. Am I the sort of
man to be treated in this way by my own pupil?
Decidedly not: I am the man to see my way
through a neat succession of alternatives; and
here they are:—

First alternative. To announce my compliance
with her proposal; to exchange addresses
with her; and then to keep my eye privately on
all her future movements. Second alternative.
To express fond anxiety in a paternal capacity;
and to threaten giving the alarm to her sister and
the lawyer, if she persists in her design. Third
alternative. To turn the information I already
possess to the best account, by making it a
marketable commodity between Mr. Michael
Vanstone and myself. At present, I incline
towards the last of these three courses. But my
decision is far too important to be hurried.
To-day is only the twenty-ninth. I will suspend
my Chronicle of Events until Monday.

May 31st.—My alternatives and her plans are
both overthrown together.

The newspaper came in, as usual, after breakfast.
I looked it over, and discovered this
memorable entry, among the obituary announcements
of the day:—

"On the 29th inst., at Brighton, Michael
Vanstone, Esq., formerly of Zurich, aged 77."

Miss Vanstone was present in the room, when
I read those two startling lines. Her bonnet
was on; her boxes were packed; she was waiting
impatiently until it was time to go to the
train. I handed the paper to her, without a
word on my side. Without a word on hers, she
looked where I pointed, and read the news of
Michael Vanstone's death.

The paper dropped out of her hand; and she
suddenly pulled down her veil. I caught one
glance at her face before she hid it from me. The
effect on my mind was startling in the extreme.
To put it with my customary dash of humour—
her face informed me that the most sensible action
which Michael Vanstone, Esq., formerly of Zurich,
lad ever achieved in his life, was the action he
performed at Brighton, on the the 29th instant.

Finding the dead silence in the room singularly
unpleasant under existing circumstances, I
thought I would make a remark. My regard for
my own interests supplied me with a subject. I
mentioned the Entertainment.

"After what has happened " I said, "I
presume we go on with our performances as usual?"