"It's enough to tempt one to try the strength of the old adage----,"

continued Clinton, thoughtfully, and pausing in the midst of his sentence.

"What's that?" asked Arthur, without looking up.

"Why, to take the game as well as the name," said the other, with a short laugh, and without taking his eyes from Arthur's face.

"True enough," cried Quirk, "you might as well be a thief as to be called one, according to my opinion."

Arthur placed his elbow on the table, and looked into the lamp-blaze thoughtfully, with his head on his hand.

"You are both ready to advise," said he, after a moment's silence, "but I doubt if either of you know what you'd do in my case, after all."

"I'd be avenged," said Clinton, resolutely; "but you are not me, and I don't ask you to do as I would."

"That's just the thing!" cried Quirk; "and if you can hit upon a plan, carry it out; there'll be some satisfaction in that."

"Revenge!" said Arthur, bitterly; "how can I be revenged? It would be a sparrow struggling against a vulture."

"You admit you have been wronged?"

"Most unjustly so."

"And you would be avenged, if you could?"

"Yes, if I spilled my heart's blood."

Arthur had drank deeply of the wine, and his blood was heated with it, and his worst passions aroused. He had been goaded into the belief that he had been grossly insulted and had taken it submissively, and that revenge was his only resource. He threw aside his chair, and strode back and forth across the narrow room, with the excited tread of the caged lion.

Clinton watched him furtively from beneath his brows for a moment, then rising, linked arms, and leaned toward him in a confidential manner.

"My poor friend, I pity you from the bottom of my heart; count upon me whenever you are in want of a friend, will you?"

"Always, Clinton; thank you."

"And if I should try to think upon some good plan, lay some good plot, by which you could gain retribution for this great wrong, would you then be courageous, and carry it out handsomely?"

"Would I? Never fear me there. I'll show you that I'm not one to bow my neck to the insults of a money-holder. I'll carry out anything you say."

"Bravo! my boy; you've got the right kind of spirit in you; that's what I like to see--you're a man of pluck."

"About when do you think you'll have this grand plot ready for me, eh?"

"The first dark night."

"You'll consult the clerk of the we-weather as to when that is c-coming, eh?"

"I suppose so," said Clinton, laughing. "Meanwhile, come down to my house the last of the week, say Friday night, and I'll have all things in cap-a-pie order for you."

"How do I know where to find you, my more than brother," said Arthur, clasping Clinton's hand closely.

"Quirk knows the way. You'll come?"

"Depend upon it."

"Good! that's settled; now for a bumper on it."

"Well, I don't know, Clinton; I--I--declare I'm afr-afraid I'll be (hic) drunk if I drink any more."

"Nonsense! down with it; let's finish the last bottle."

The wine was swallowed, and Clinton, taking Arthur's hand in his, shook it heartily.

"Ah! my boy, you've proved yourself 'one of us' to-night; glad to claim you as a b-hoy. Whenever you're in want or trouble, signal the b-hoys, and you'll be helped out of it. It's a better society than any of the Odd Fellows or Free Masons can ever be, and costs you nothing besides.

What say you now for a stroll?"

"Agreed! for my part, I am ready for anything."

"Then hurrah, boys!" cried Clinton, beginning to sing a lively air; and lighting their cigars, they passed out into the saloon.

"Put all this in my bill, Quibbles," said Clinton, as he passed that gentleman, on his way to the door.

"That'll do, sir--all right."

With noise and laughter, and rude jest, the drunken trio went down the street. It needed but a glance to show that the younger of the three, he with the bright complexion and jetty hair, was but a novice in dissipation, and more than one felt a glow of pity, as he jostled past them in the light of the bright windows of Royal-street. Alas! alas!

Arthur; where was the ghost in your heart now? that haggard figure, pointing ever with its skinny finger backward!

They kept on until they reached St. Ann-street, into which they turned; as they did so, their attention was attracted by the appearance of a slight female figure, with a short cloak about her shoulders, and the hood drawn over her head. The moment she heard the unsteady steps behind her she hurried her pace, which was already rapid, and sped along with feet winged with fear.

"By Jove! that's a graceful little minx!" exclaimed Clinton.

"She's inclined to lead us a chase, too," said Quirk.

"Let's after her."

"Agreed."

And with a shout, the three started in pursuit, scarce conscious, in their excitement, of the object they had in view.

With a scream, the light form bounded onward, and fled away like the wind. Strong limbs followed; but her feet were fleet, and lightly clad, and with the hood falling from her head, and hands clasped upon a parcel she carefully carried, she seemed almost to fly before her pursuers.

With a cry of delight, she saw the gleam of a lamp come through an open door, a little beyond, when, as she attempted to spring an intervening gutter, her foot struck the curb-stone, and she fell to the earth.

In an instant she was lifted in the arms of Quirk and Clinton.

"Oh, grandpapa! grandpapa!" she shrieked, in thrilling accents, "what will become of your poor, poor Blanche? Help! help!"

Her cries were unheeded by her merciless captors, and they bore her down an adjacent street.