Spraggs have, about the lodgers we've took in,
and never done a unjust thing by no one—not
since we set up in the greengrocery business—'

"I looked up. I did not even comprehend
her meaning.

"'P'r'aps it'd be pleasanter for all parties if
you was to suit yourself,' she said, bluntly.
' It's best to be straightforward, and so I tell
ye.

"I understood her now. She, too, had heard
it!

"Like one recovering from a long illness,
feeble and sore smitten, I tottered from that
place, and went out into the cold hard world
again. I wandered far away into one of the
humblest quarters of the town, and engaged the
first poor room I could find. I had plenty of
money. For a long time past I had been saving
every penny I could spare with a precious object
—I had saved for Fanny.

"Not long after, I fell seriously ill; and for
a time I hoped that death would relieve me of
my sufferings. But Providence had other things
in store for me.

"After many months, being offered work by
a neighbouring carpenter, who accidentally
discovered my knowledge of the trade, I accepted
it, more from a need of some occupation than
from actual poverty. Then followed weeks,
months, years of colourless, objectless existence,
during which I performed mechanically the
tasks set me, held no communication with any
one that I could avoid, hated my species, almost
hated myself; an existence without interest,
without sympathy, without forgiveness. For I
lived upon my resentment. I brooded over it.
I renewed it day by day. I was for ever
picturing to myself with vindictive delight the
vengeance I would wreak on that arch enemy if I
could. I longed that I were but free to injure,
as I considered I was to abhor him. For my
promise to my master was no longer binding in
my eyes. No being in his senses could expect
me to do other than hate Philip Steele now.

"I pass over those years, dreadful and
godless as they were. In my desolation I did
sometimes utter the Publican's prayer; but I
never went to church; I never knelt down for
five long years. I dared to be angry with my
Great Creator. I writhed under an unutterable
sense of injustice. I thought myself a hunted,
doomed, accursed creature, shut out from all
sympathy and love—utterly and for ever alone.

"A misanthrope has generally himself to
blame full as much as the world. I see now
that much of what I endured at that time I
might have spared myself. If, instead of flying
from the struggle, I had fought on, as Mr.
Penrhyn once advised, I should have won my
way at last. For I had friends, who valued,
and would gladly have served me. My lady
had taken no end of pains to sift my story,
and had sought for me everywhere before she
and Fanny went abroad. Dean Tudor had done
the same, bearing strong and willing testimony
in my favour; and last, but not least, my dear
mistress, when she learned from him what had
chanced, never ceased to make inquiries for me.
But I had left no trace. In my agonised desire
to hide myself from all the world, I had changed
my very name, and the words of kindness and
encouragement that would have raised my
crushed spirit were never spoken. So five
dreary years passed by, and at thirty-one I was
an old man in heart, if not in outward appearance.
But long before that time I had engaged
these premises, and set up on my own account.
I had a morbid satisfaction in never suffering a
human being to cross my threshold except on
business—in encouraging the belief that I was
crazed, though harmless.

"One evening, I was returning home after a
late walk, when my attention was arrested by a
crowd that surrounded a humble door-step in a
street not far off. I did what I had not done
for months—I might say years before—I
addressed myself, of my own accord, to a fellow-
creature, and inquired what was the matter.
' A man either dead or dying,' was the reply.
' A case of starvation, they say.' I could
scarcely account for the impulse that induced
me to approach, and as I did so, the crowd
partially opened. ' Has any one ever a drop of
brandy?' a policeman inquired, looking round.
I had. I always carried a small flask of it in
my pocket, being subject to a sort of spasm.
I gave it him, following in his wake as he
pushed his way back again, stooping down at
last over an object on the step, which his burly
form concealed. ' I can't get his mouth open,'
I heard him say. Then there was a buzz of
voices.

' Yes—yes—there—he swallowed—'

' He's not dead—— '

' Ain't he?'

' No. He did swallow.'

' There! he's swallowed some more—plenty
—no—he's not dead—'

"' That's enough—don't give him no more now.'

"And the policeman raised his tall figure and
returned me the flask. In doing so, he moved
a little on one side, and disclosed the form of
the dying man. He was pale as death—his
features attenuated—his clothes travel-stained
and torn—his hat fallen off—his hair matted
together—his whole appearance ghastly in the
extreme. But there was no mistaking Philip
Steele.

"I advanced a step or two to make sure of
the fact. I gazed at him. I gloated over him.
' " Have I found thee, O mine enemy?" ' I
inwardly exclaimed.

"Yes, I had found him, as my utmost malice
could have wished to find him. He was in my
power now. Oh, joy unspeakable! Revenge
at last!

"The brandy had so far restored him, that
he showed signs of life, though still insensible.
The police were talking of conveying him to
the station-house, but I interfered. 'I know
this man well,' I said. ' Bring him to my
house. He is a——I will see to him myself.'