"Aha!--My stars, Mr. Gammon, we're going to be _devilish_ secret--aren't we!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, with a faint smile, having watched Mr. Gammon's movement with great surprise; and he began to smoke rather more energetically than before, with his eye fixed on the grave countenance of Mr. Gammon.

"My dear t.i.tmouse," commenced his visitor, drawing his chair near to him, and speaking in a very earnest but kindly manner, "does it never astonish you, when you reflect on the stroke of fortune which has elevated you to your present point of splendor and distinction?"

"Most amazing!--uncommon!" replied t.i.tmouse, apprehensively.

"It _is_!--marvellous! unprecedented! You are the envy of hundreds upon hundreds of thousands! Such an affair as yours does not happen above once or twice in a couple of centuries--if so often! You cannot imagine the feelings of delight with which _I_ regard all this--this brilliant result of my long labors, and untiring devotion to your service."--He paused.

"Oh, 'pon my life, yes; it's all very true," replied t.i.tmouse, with a little trepidation, replenishing the bowl of his hookah with tobacco.

"May I venture to hope, my dear t.i.tmouse, that I have established my claim to be considered, in some measure, as the sole architect of your extraordinary fortunes--your earliest--your most constant friend?"

"You see, as I've often said, Mr. Gammon--I'm most uncommon obliged to you for all favors--so help me----! and no mistake," said t.i.tmouse, exhibiting a countenance of increasing seriousness; and he rose from his rec.u.mbent posture, and, still smoking, sat with his face turned full towards Mr. Gammon, who resumed--

"As I am not in the habit, my dear t.i.tmouse, of beating about the bush, let me express a hope that you consider the services I have rendered you not unworthy of requital"----

"Oh yes--to be sure--certainly," quoth t.i.tmouse, slightly changing color--"anything, by Jove, that's in my power--but it is most particular unfortunate that--ahem!--so deuced hard up just now--but--ah, 'pon my soul, I'll speak to Lord Bulfinch, or some of those people, and get you something--though I sha'n't do anything of the kind for _Snap_--dem him!

You've no idea," continued t.i.tmouse, anxiously, "how devilish thick Lord Bulfinch and I are--he shakes hands with me when we meet alone in the lobby--he does, 'pon my life."

"I am very much obliged, my dear t.i.tmouse, for your kind offer--but I have a _little_ political influence myself, when I think fit to exert it," replied Gammon, gravely.

"Well, then," interrupted t.i.tmouse, eagerly--"as for money, if that's what--by jingo! but if _you_ don't know how _precious_ hard up one is just now"--

"My dear sir," replied Gammon, his countenance sensibly darkening as he went on, "the subject on which we are now engaged is one of inexpressible interest and importance, in my opinion, to each of us; and let us discuss it calmly. I am prepared to make a communication to you immediately, which you will never forget to the day of your death. Are you prepared to receive it?"

"Oh yes!--Never so wide awake in my life! O Lord! fire away!"--replied t.i.tmouse; and taking the tip of his hookah from his lips, and holding it in the fingers of his left hand, he leaned forward, staring open-mouthed at Gammon.

"Well, my dear t.i.tmouse, then I will proceed. I will not enjoin you to secrecy;--and that not merely because I have full confidence in your honor--but because you cannot disclose it to any mortal man but at the peril of immediate and utter ruin."

"'Pon my soul, most amazing! Demme, Mr. Gammon, you frighten me out of my wits!" said t.i.tmouse, turning paler and paler, as his recollection became more and more distinct of certain mysterious hints of Mr.

Gammon's, many months before, at Yatton, as to his power over t.i.tmouse.

"Consider for a moment. You are now a member of Parliament; the unquestioned owner of a fine estate; the husband of a lady of very high rank--the last direct representative of one of the proudest and most ancient of the n.o.ble families of Great Britain; you yourself are next but one in succession to almost the oldest barony in the kingdom; in fact, in all human probability, you are the next LORD DRELINCOURT; and all this through ME." He paused.

"Well--excuse me, Mr. Gammon--but I hear;--though--ahem! you're (meaning no offence)--I can't for the life and soul of me tell what the devil it is you're driving at"--said t.i.tmouse, twisting his finger into his hair, and gazing at Gammon with intense anxiety. For some moments Mr. Gammon remained looking very solemnly and in silence at t.i.tmouse; and then proceeded.

"Yet you are _really_ no more ent.i.tled to _be_ what you seem--what you are thought--or to possess what you at present possess--than--the little wretch that last swept your chimneys here!"

The hookah dropped out of t.i.tmouse's hand upon the floor, and he made no effort to pick it up, but sat staring at Gammon, with cheeks almost as white as his shirt-collar, and in blank dismay.

"I perceive you are agitated, Mr. t.i.tmouse," said Gammon, kindly.

"By Jove--I should think so!" replied t.i.tmouse, faintly; but he tried to a.s.sume an incredulous smile--in vain, however; and to such a pitch had his agitation reached, that he rose, opened a cabinet near him, and taking out from it a brandy-flask and a wine-gla.s.s, poured it out full, and drank it off. "You a'n't _joking_, Mr. Gammon, eh?" Again he attempted a sickly smile.

"G.o.d forbid, Mr. t.i.tmouse!"

"Well--but," faltered t.i.tmouse, "_why_ a'n't I ent.i.tled to it all?

Hasn't the law given it to me? And can't the law do as it likes?"

"No one on earth knows the _what_ and the _why_ of this matter but myself; and, if you choose, no one ever shall; nay, I will take care, if you come this morning to my terms, to deprive even myself of all means of proving what I can _now_ prove, at any moment I choose"----

"Lord, Mr. Gammon!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed t.i.tmouse, pa.s.sing his hand hastily over his damp forehead--his agitation visibly increasing. "What's to be the figure?" he faltered presently, and looked as if he dreaded to hear the answer.

"If you mean, what are my _terms_--I will at once tell you:--they are terms on which I shall peremptorily insist; they have been long fixed in my own mind; I am quite inflexible; so help me Heaven, I will not vary from them a hair's breadth! I require first, to sit in Parliament for Yatton at the next election; and afterwards alternately with yourself; and secondly, that you immediately grant me an annuity for my life of two thousand pounds a-year on your"----

t.i.tmouse sprang from the sofa, dashing his fist on the table, and uttering a frightful imprecation. He stood for a moment, and then threw himself desperately at full length on the sofa, muttering the same execration which had first issued from his lips. Gammon moved not a muscle, but fixed a steadfast eye on t.i.tmouse; the two might have been compared to the affrighted rabbit, and the deadly boa-constrictor.

"It's all a swindle!--a d----d swindle!" at length he exclaimed, starting up into a sitting posture, and almost grinning defiance at Gammon.

"You're a swindler!"--he exclaimed vehemently.

"Possibly--but _you_, sir, are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," replied Gammon, calmly.

t.i.tmouse looked the picture of horror, and trembled in every limb.

"It's a lie!--It's all a lie!"--he gasped.

"Sir, you are a _b.a.s.t.a.r.d_"--repeated Gammon, bitterly, and extending his forefinger threateningly towards t.i.tmouse. Then he added with sudden vehemence--"Wretched miscreant--do you presume to tell me I lie? You base-born cur!"--a lightning glance shot from his eye; but he restrained himself. t.i.tmouse sat at length as if petrified, while Gammon, in a low tone, and with fearful bitterness of manner, proceeded--"_You_ the owner of Yatton? _You_ the next Lord Drelincourt? No more than the helper in your stables! One breath of mine blights you forever--as an impostor--a mere audacious swindler--to be spit upon! to be kicked out of society--perhaps to be transported for life. Gracious Heavens! what will the Earl of Dreddlington say when he hears that his sole daughter and heiress is married to a----It will kill _him_, or he will kill _you_!"

"Two can play at that," whispered t.i.tmouse, faintly--indeed almost inarticulately. There was nearly a minute's pause.

"No--but _is_ it all true?--honor!" inquired t.i.tmouse, in a very subdued voice.

"As G.o.d is my witness!" replied Gammon.

"Well," exclaimed t.i.tmouse, after a prodigious sigh, "then at any rate, you're in for it with me; you said just now you'd done it all. Aha! I recollect, Mr. Gammon! I should no more have thought of it _myself_--Lord! than--what d'ye say to _that_, Mr. Gammon?"

"Alas, sir! it will not avail you," replied Gammon, with a fearful smile; "for I never made the dreadful discovery of your illegitimacy till it was too late--till at least two months after I had put you (whom I believed the true heir) into possession of Yatton!"

"Ah--I don't know--but--why didn't you tell Lord Dreddlington? Why did you let me marry Lady Cicely? By Jove, but it's _you_ he'll kill," quoth t.i.tmouse, eagerly.

"Yes!--Alas! I ought to have done so," replied Mr. Gammon, with a profound sigh--adding, abstractedly, "It may not be too late to make his Lordship _some_ amends. I may save his _t.i.tle_ from degradation. Lord Drelincourt"----

"O Lord!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed t.i.tmouse, involuntarily, and almost unconsciously, staring stupidly at Gammon, who continued with a renewed sigh--"Yes, I _ought_ to have told his Lordship--but I own--I was led away by feelings of pity--of affection for YOU--and, alas! is this the return?" He spoke this with a look and in a tone of sorrowful reproach.

"Well, you shouldn't have come down on one so suddenly--all at once--how can a man--eh? Such _horrid_ news!"

"It has cost me, sir, infinitely greater pain to tell you, than it has cost you to hear it!"

"By the living Jove!" exclaimed t.i.tmouse, starting up with a sort of recklessness, and pouring out and tossing off a second gla.s.sful of brandy--"it _can't_ be true--it's all a dream! I--I a'n't--I _can't_ be a bas---- perhaps _you're_ all this while the true heir, Mr. Gammon?"

he added briskly, and snapped his fingers at his companion.

"No, sir, I am not," replied Gammon, calmly; "but let me tell you, _I know where he is to be found_, Mr. t.i.tmouse! Do you commission me to go in search of him?" he inquired, suddenly fixing his bright penetrating eye upon t.i.tmouse, who instantly stammered out--"O Lord! By Jove! no, no!"

Gammon could scarcely suppress a bitter smile, so ludicrous were the look and tone of t.i.tmouse.

"You shouldn't have let me spend such a lot of money, if it wasn't mine all the while"----

"The estate was, in a manner, Mr. t.i.tmouse, in my _gift_; and in pitching upon you, sir, out of several, I had imagined that I had chosen a gentleman--a man grateful and honorable"----

"'Pon my solemn soul, so I _am_!" interrupted t.i.tmouse, eagerly.