ecessary to assume his brother's
name and title. It was some "dodge," perhaps, to acquire consequence in
the eyes of his friend Lazarus that he was the travelling-companion of
an English peer; and yet, if so, it was the very first time Beecher had
known him yield to such a weakness. He _had_ a meaning in it, that much
was certain, for Grog made no move in the game of life without a plan!
"It can't be," muttered Beecher to himself,--"it can't be for the sake
of any menace over me for the forgery, because he has already in his
hands quite enough to push me to the wall on that score, as he takes
care to remind me he might any fine morning have me 'up' on that
charge." The more Beecher ruminated over what possible intention
Davis might have in view, the more did he grow terrified, lest, by any
short-comings on his own part, he might thwart the great plans of his
deep colleague.

"I never met his equal yet to put a fellow in a cleft stick," muttered
Beecher, as he walked to and fro in intense agitation, "and he's just
the man also, whenever anything goes wrong, not to listen to a word of
explanation. 'Why didn't you do as I bade you?' or, 'As I ordered you?'
for that's his phrase generally. 'Who told _you_ that you had any option
in the matter? Did _I_ take you into consultation? Play up to _my_
hand!' that's his cry. 'Play up to _my_ hand, and never mind your own!'
Well, I have been doing so some ten or twelve years back, and a nice
game I've made of it! Break with him!--of course I'd break with him,
if any one would tell me how! Egad, sometimes I begin to think that
transportation and the rest of it would not be a bit harder to bear
than old Grog's tyranny! It wears one out,--it positively drains a man's
nature dry!" There are volcanic throes, that, however they may work
and struggle, throw up no lava; so with Beecher. All his passionate
indignation could not rouse him to action, although his actual suffering
might have prompted energy to any amount. He took out Davis's letter and
re-read it. One line which had escaped his attention before, now caught
his eye on the blank leaf. It ran thus: "Take care that you do not delay
at Aix after receipt of this. Benson's fellows are after you." A cold
shudder came over Beecher as he perused the line. Benson's fellows
meant bailiffs, detectives, or something of the like. Benson was a
money-lender of the most inveterate villany,--a fellow who had pursued
more men of station and condit