inst Mr. Walker, for which he is now in prison?"

"Perfumery supplied for five years; that man used more 'air-brushes than
any duke in the land, and as for eau-de-Cologne, he must have bathed
himself in it. He hordered me about like a lord. He never paid me one
shilling--he stabbed me in my most vital part--but ah! ah! never mind
THAT: and I said I would be revenged, and I AM."

The perfumer was quite in a rage again by this time, and wiped his fat
face with his pocket-handkerchief, and glared upon Mrs. Walker with a
most determined air.

"Revenged on whom? Archibald--Mr. Eglantine, revenged on me--on a poor
woman whom you made miserable! You would not have done so once."

"Ha! and a precious way you treated me ONCE," said Eglantine: "don't
talk to me, mem, of ONCE. Bury the recollection of once for hever!
I thought my 'eart would have broke once, but no: 'earts are made of
sterner stuff. I didn't die, as I thought I should; I stood it--and I
live to see the woman who despised me at my feet."

"Oh, Archibald!" was all the lady could say, and she fell to sobbing
again: it was perhaps her best argument with the perfumer.

"Oh, Harchibald, indeed!" continued he, beginning to swell; "don't call
me Harchibald, Morgiana. Think what a position you might have held if
you'd chose: when, when--you MIGHT have called me Harchibald. Now
it's no use," added he, with harrowing pathos; "but, though I've been
wronged, I can't bear to see women in tears--tell me what I can do."

"Dear good Mr. Eglantine, send to your lawyers and stop this horrid
prosecution--take Mr. Walker's acknowledgment for the debt. If he is
free, he is sure to have a very large sum of money in a few days, and
will pay you all. Do not ruin him--do not ruin me by persisting now. Be
the old kind Eglantine you were."

Eglantine took a hand, which Morgiana did not refuse; he thought about
old times. He had known her since childhood almost; as a girl he dandled
her on his knee at the "Kidneys;" as a woman he had adored her--his
heart was melted.

"He did pay me in a sort of way," reasoned the perfumer with
himself--"these bonds, though they are not worth much, I took 'em for
better or for worse, and I can't bear to see her crying, and to trample
on a woman in distress. Morgiana," he added, in a loud cheerful voice,
"cheer up; I'll give you a release for your husband: I WILL be the old
kind Eglantine I was."

"Be the old kind jackass you vash!" here roared a vo