ver, he was still an
unbeaten man, the terror of the Ring, and as his ill-omened face was seen
behind his infamous master many a half-raised cane was lowered and many a
hot word was checked, while the whisper of "Hooper! 'Ware Bully Hooper!"
warned all who were aggrieved that it might be best to pocket their
injuries lest some even worse thing should befall them. Many a maimed
and disfigured man had carried away from Vauxhall the handiwork of the
Tinman and his patron.

Moving in insolent slowness through the crowd, the bully and his master
had just come opposite to the bench upon which sat Sir Charles Tregellis.
At this place the path opened up into a circular space, brilliantly
illuminated and surrounded by rustic seats. From one of these an
elderly, ringleted woman, deeply veiled, rose suddenly and barred the
path of the swaggering nobleman. Her voice sounded clear and strident
above the babel of tongues, which hushed suddenly that their owners might
hear it.

"Marry her, my lord! I entreat you to marry her! Oh, surely you will
marry my poor Amelia!" said the voice.

Lord Barrymore stood aghast. From all sides folk were closing in and
heads were peering over shoulders. He tried to push on, but the lady
barred his way and two palms pressed upon his beruffled front.

"Surely, surely you would not desert her! Take the advice of that good,
kind clergyman behind you!" wailed the voice. "Oh, be a man of honour
and marry her!"

The elderly lady thrust out her hand and drew forward a lumpish-looking
young woman, who sobbed and mopped her eyes with her handkerchief.

"The plague take you!" roared his lordship, in a fury. "Who is the
wench? I vow that I never clapped eyes on either of you in my life!"

"It is my niece Amelia," cried the lady, "your own loving Amelia! Oh, my
lord, can you pretend that you have forgotten poor, trusting Amelia, of
Woodbine Cottage at Lichfield."

"I never set foot in Lichfield in my life!" cried the peer. "You are two
impostors who should be whipped at the cart's tail."

"Oh, wicked! Oh, Amelia!" screamed the lady, in a voice that resounded
through the Gardens. "Oh, my darling, try to soften his hard heart; pray
him that he make an honest woman of you at last."

With a lurch the stout young woman fell forward and embraced Lord
Barrymore with the hug of a bear. He would have raised his cane, but his
arms were pinned to his sides.

"Hooper! Hooper!" screamed the furio