took the Receipt out, and held it up under
the lamp.

Instantly Mr. Hardie drew a life-preserver, and
sprang on him with a savage curse. And uttered
a shriek of dismay; for he was met by the long
shiny barrel of a horse-pistol, that Skinner drew
from his bosom, and levelled full in the haggard
face that came at him. Mr. Hardie recoiled,
crying, " No! no! for Heaven's sake!"

"What!" cried Skinner, stepping forward and
hissing, " do you think I'm such a fool as to meet
a thief unarmed? Come, cash up, or I'll blow
you to atoms."

"No, no, no!" said Mr. Hardie, piteously,
retreating as Skinner marched on him with long
extended pistol. " Skinner," he stammered,
"th-this is n-not b-b-business."

"Cash up, then; that's business. Fling the
five hundred pounds down, and walk away.
Mind, it is loaded with two bullets; I'll make a
double entry on your great treacherous carcase."

"It's no use trying to deceive such a man as
you," said Mr. Hardie, playing on his vanity.
"I could not get the money before Saturday,
and so I listened to the dictates of despair.
Forgive me."

"Then come again on Saturday night. Come
alone, and I shall bring a man to see I'm not
murdered. And look here, sir, if you don't come
to the hour and do the right thing without any
more of these unbusiness-like tricks, by Heaven
I'll smash you before noon on Monday."

"I'll come."

"I'll blow you to Mr. Alfred and Miss Dodd."

"I'll come, I tell you."

"I'll post you for a thief on every brick in the
Exchange."

"Have mercy, Skinner. Have pity on the
wretched man whose bread you have eaten. I
tell you I'll come."

"Well, mind you do, then, cash and all," said
Skinner, sulkily, but not quite proof against the
reminiscences those humble words awakened.

Each walked backwards a good dozen steps,
and then they took different roads, Skinner
taking good care not to be tracked home. He
went up the high stairs to the hole in the
roof he occupied, and lighted a rushlight. He
had half a mind to kindle a fire, he felt so
chilly; but he had stopped up the vent, partly
to keep out the cold, partly to shun the temptation
of burning fuel. However, he stopped the
keyhole with paper, and also the sides of the
window, till he had shut the wintry air all out.
Still, what with the cold and what with the
reaction after so great an excitement, his feeble
body began to shiver desperately. He thought
at last he would light a foot-warmer he had just
purchased for old iron at a broker's; that would
only spend a halfpenny-worth of charcoal. No
he wouldn't; he would look at his money; that
would cheer him. He unripped a certain part of
his straw mattress and took out a bag of gold.
He spread three hundred sovereigns on the floor,
and put the candle down among them. They
sparkled; they were all new ones, and he rubbed
them with an old toothbrush and whiting every
week. "That's better than any fire," he said;
"they warm the heart. For one thing they are
my own; at all events I did not steal them, nor
take them of a thief for a bribe to keep dark and
defraud honest folk." Then Remorse gripped
him: he asked himself what he was going to do.
"To rob an angel," was the answer. " The
fourteen thousand pounds is all hers, and I could
give it her in a moment. Curse him, he would
have killed me for it."

Then he pottered about and took out his will.
"Ah," said he, " that is all right, so far. But
what is a paltry three hundred when I help do
her out of fourteen thousand? Villain!" Then,
to ease his conscience, he took a slip of paper
and wrote on it a short account of the Receipt,
and how he came by it, and lo! as if an unseen
power had guided his hand, he added, "Miss
Dodd lives at 66, Pembroke-street, and I am
going to take it to her as soon as I am well of
my cold." Whether this preceded an unconscious
resolve which had worked on him secretly for
some time, or whether it awakened such a resolve,
I hardly know: but certain it is, that having
written it, he now thought seriously of doing it;
and, the more seriously he entertained the thought,
the more good it seemed to do him. He got
"The Sinner's Friend" and another good book
she had lent him, and read a bit: then, finding
his feet frozen, he lighted his chafer and blew
it well, and put it under his feet and read. The
good words began to reach his heart more and
more: so did the thought of Julia's goodness.
The chafer warmed his feet and legs. "Ay,"
said he, "men don't want fires; warm the feet
and the body warms itself." He took out " The
Receipt" and held it in his hand, and eyed it
greedily, and asked himself could he really part
with it. He thought he could—to Julia. Still
holding it tight in his left hand, he read on the
good but solemn words that seemed to loosen
his grasp upon that ill-gotten paper. "How
good it was of her," he thought, " to come day
after day and feed a poor little fellow like him,
body and soul. She asked nothing back. She
didn't know he could make her any return.
Bless her! bless her!" he screamed. "Oh,
how cruel I have been to her, and she so kind to
me. She would never let me want, if I took her
fourteen thousand pounds. Like enough give
me a thousand: and help me save my poor soul,
that I shall damn if I meet him again. I won't
go his way again. Lead us not into temptation.
I repent. Lord have mercy on me a miserable
sinner." And tears bedewed those wizened
cheeks, tears of penitence, sincere, at least for
the time.

A sleepy languor now came over him, and the
good book fell from his hand: but his resolution
remained unshaken; by-and-by, waking up from a
sort of heavy doze, he took, as it were, a last look
at the Receipt, and murmured, " My head, how
heavy it feels." But presently he roused himself,