48

After a long time, the schoolmaster appeared at the wicket-gate of the churchyard, and hurried towards Nell and grandfather, jingling in his hand a bundle of rusty keys.

“You see those two old houses?” he said.

“Yes, surely,” replied Nell. “I have been looking at them nearly all the time you have been away.”

“One of those houses is mine,” said her friend.

Without saying any more, or giving the child time to reply, the schoolmaster took her hand, and led her to the place of which he spoke.

They stopped before the low arched door. The schoolmaster admitted them into the house.

The room into which they entered was a vaulted chamber nobly ornamented by cunning architects.

An open door led to a small room or cell. It had some furniture: a few strange chairs, a table, a great old chest. The child looked around her with solemn feeling. The old man had followed them.

“It is a very beautiful place!” said the child, in a low voice.

“A peaceful place to live in, don’t you think so?” said her friend.

“Oh yes,” rejoined the child, clasping her hands earnestly. “A quiet, happy place a place to live and learn to die in!”

“A place to live, and learn to live, and gather health of mind and body in,” said the schoolmaster; “for this old house is yours.”

“Ours!” cried the child.

“Yes,” returned the schoolmaster gaily, “for many years, I hope. I shall be a close neighbour only next door, but this house is yours.”

The schoolmaster sat down and drew Nell to his side. That ancient tenement had been occupied for a very long time by an old person, nearly a hundred years of age, who kept the keys of the church, opened and closed it for the services, and showed it to strangers. Now the post is vacant.

“The work is not paid very well,” said the schoolmaster. “but still enough to live upon in this retired spot.”

“Heaven bless and prosper you!” sobbed the child.

“Amen, my dear,” returned her friend cheerfully; “But we must look at my house now. Come!”

They went to the other house. The worm-eaten door led into a chamber, vaulted and old, like that from which they had come, but not so spacious. Now their pleasant care was to make these dwellings habitable and full of comfort, Nell repaired the tattered window-hangings, the schoolmaster swept and smoothed the ground before the door, trimmed the long grass. The old man helped them and was happy.

They began to live happily and quietly. The neighbours always praised the child, her sense and beauty, and the old man was proud to hear them. But Nelly was sick, terribly sick. Weeks had crept on, and the exhausted child passed whole evenings on a couch beside the fire. At such times, the schoolmaster brought books, and read to her aloud. The old man sat and listened, with little understanding for the words, but with his eyes fixed upon the child. Sometimes she was too weak to rise from her bed.

49

When Sunday came, Mr. Swiveller was sitting in the client’s chair.

“This is life,” said Mr. Swiveller to himself, “Oh, certainly. Why not? I’m quite satisfied. I do nothing and get paid for that. Ha, ha, ha!”

There came a ring. Opening the door with all speed, he saw Kit.

“Is the gentleman at home?” said Kit. “I mean the gentleman upstairs, is he at home?”

“Why?” rejoined Dick.

“Because if he is, I have a letter for him.”

“From whom?” said Dick.

“From Mr. Garland.”

“Oh!” said Dick with extreme politeness. “Then you may hand it over, sir. And if you’re to wait for an answer, sir, you may wait in the passage, sir.”

“Thank you,” returned Kit. “But I am to give it to himself, if you please.” Kit went upstairs.

Mr. Brass and his lovely companion appeared.

“Well, Mr. Richard,” said Brass. “How are we this morning? Are we pretty fresh and cheerful, sir eh, Mr. Richard? “

“Pretty well, sir,” replied Dick.

“That’s well,” said Brass. “Ha ha! It’s a pleasant world we live in, sir, a very pleasant world. There are bad people in it, Mr. Richard, but if there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers. Ha ha! Any letters by the post this morning, Mr. Richard?”

Mr. Swiveller answered in the negative.

“Ha!” said Brass, “no matter. If there’s little business today, there’ll be more tomorrow. Any visitors, sir?”

“Only somebody to the lodger,” replied Mr. Swiveller,

“Oh indeed!” cried Brass. “Somebody to the lodger, eh? Ha! ha! Somebody to the lodger, eh Mr. Richard?”

“Yes,” said Dick, “With him now.”

“With him now!” cried Brass; “Ha ha! And who is the lodger’s visitor, Mr. Richard?”

“A young man,” returned Richard. “Kit, they call him.”

“Kit, eh!” said Brass. “Ha ha! Kit’s there, is he? Oh! Will you have the goodness, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, taking a letter from his desk, “just to give this letter to our client? The address is written over there. There’s no answer, but it’s rather particular and should go by hand.”

Mr. Swiveller put on his coat, took down his hat from its peg, pocketed the letter, and departed.

As soon as he was gone, Miss Sally Brass rose up, and smiling sweetly at her brother (who nodded and smote his nose in return) withdrew also.

50

Richard Swiveller, being often alone, began to play cards with a dummy. As these games were very silently conducted, Mr. Swiveller began to think that on those evenings when Mr. and Miss Brass were out (and they often went out now) he heard a kind of snorting or hard-breathing sound in the direction of the door. Looking intently that way one night, he plainly distinguished an eye gleaming and glistening at the key-hole; he came softly to the door, and pounced upon the little girl before she was aware of his approach.

“Oh! I didn’t mean any harm indeed, upon my word I didn’t,” cried the small servant. “It’s very dull downstairs. Please don’t you Mrs. Brass, please don’t!”

“How long have you been cooling your eye there?” said Dick.

“Oh ever since you first began to play them cards, and long before.”

“Well, come in,” he said, after a little consideration. “Here sit down, and I’ll teach you how to play. Why, how thin you are! Will you eat any bread and meat? Yes? Ah! I thought so. Why, how old are you?”

“I don’t know.”

The small servant’s plate was soon empty.

“Well,” said Dick, “is it good?”

“Oh! Isn’t it?” said the small servant.

Soon Dick began to teach her the game, which she soon learnt well, because she was both sharp-witted and cunning.

“Now,” said Mr. Swiveller, putting two sixpences into a saucer, “those are the stakes. If you win, you get them all. If I win, I get them. To make it seem more real and pleasant, I shall call you the Marchioness, do you hear?”

The small servant nodded.

“Then, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “Let’s play!”

51

Mr. Swiveller and his partner played cards with varying success.

“Could you,” said Dick, “Marchioness, relate what Mr. and Mrs. Brass say of the humble individual who…”

“You?”

“Yes, what do they say about me?” said Dick.

“Miss Sally says you’re a funny chap,” replied his friend.

“Well, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “that’s not uncomplimentary. Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad or a degrading quality.”

“But she says,” pursued his companion, “that one can’t trust you.”

“Why, really Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, thoughtfully; “several ladies and gentlemen, ma’am, have made the same remark. It’s a popular prejudice, Marchioness. Mr. Brass is of the same opinion, I suppose?”

His friend nodded, and added imploringly,

“But don’t you ever tell upon me, or I shall be beat to death.”

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, rising, “I give you the word of a gentleman. I am your friend, and I hope we shall play more together in this same saloon. But, Marchioness,” added Richard, stopping in his way to the door, and wheeling slowly round upon the small servant, who was following with the candle; “it occurs to me that you must be in the constant habit of airing your eye at key-holes.”

“I only wanted,” replied the trembling Marchioness, “to know where the key of the safe was hid; that was all; just to squench my hunger.”

“You didn’t find it then?” said Dick. “But of course you didn’t, or you’d be plumper. Good-night, Marchioness.”

He awoke in the morning, much refreshed; and went to work; where Sally was already at her post.

“I say,” said Miss Brass, “you haven’t seen a silver pencil-case this morning, have you?”

“I didn’t meet many in the street,” rejoined Mr. Swiveller. “Do you ask me such a question seriously? Haven’t I this moment come?”

“Well, all I know is,” replied Miss Sally, “that I can’t find it, and that it disappeared one day this week, when I left it on the desk.”

Mr. Swiveller involuntarily clapped his hands to the jacket.

“It’s a very unpleasant thing, Dick,” said Miss Brass, pulling out the tin box and refreshing herself with a pinch of snuff; “but between you and me, between friends, you know, some office-money has gone in the same way. In particular, I have missed three half-crowns.”

“You don’t mean that?“ cried Dick. “Be careful what you say, for this is a serious matter. Are you quite sure? Is there no mistake?”

“It is so, and there can’t be any mistake at all,” rejoined Miss Brass emphatically.

The more they discussed the subject, the more probable it appeared to Dick that the miserable little servant was the thief.

The voice of Miss Sally’s brother Sampsonwas heard in the passage, and the gentleman himself appeared.

“Mr. Richard sir, good morning! Here we are again sir, entering upon another day. Here we are, Mr. Richard, charming, sir, very charming!”

While he addressed his clerk in these words, Mr. Brass was examining a five-pound bank-note, which he had in his hand. Suddenly he noticed something wrong.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Sampson, “What’s the matter?”

Dick told him about the thieves.

“This is a most extraordinary and painful circumstance, Mr. Richard sir, a most painful circumstance. The fact is, that I myself have missed several small sums from the desk. Sally, Mr. Richard, sir, this is a particularly distressing affair!” said Mr. Brass.

“Why,” said his sister with an air of triumph, “hasn’t there been somebody always coming in and out of this office for the last three or four weeks; hasn’t that somebody been left alone in it; and do you mean to tell me that that somebody isn’t the thief?”

“What somebody?” blustered Brass.

“Why, what do you call him… Kit.”

“Mr. Garland’s young man?”

“To be sure.“

“Never!” cried Brass. “Never. Don’t tell me!”

“I say,” repeated Miss Brass, taking another pinch of snuff, “that he’s the thief.”

“I say,” returned Sampson violently, “that he is not. What do you mean? How dare you? Do you know that he’s the honestest and faithfullest fellow that ever lived? Come in, Come in!”

These last words were not addressed to Miss Sally. They were addressed to some person who had knocked at the office-door; and they had hardly passed the lips of Mr. Brass, when this very Kit himself looked in.

“Is the gentleman upstairs, sir, if you please?”

“Yes, Kit,” said Brass; “Yes Kit, he is. I am glad to see you Kit, I am rejoiced to see you. Look in again, as you come downstairs, Kit. That lad a robber!” cried Brass when Kit had withdrawn, “I’d trust him all my gold. Am I blind, deaf, silly? Kit a robber! Bah!”