his secret) enough to enable him to
print his tragedy for private satisfaction; and that piece of vanity
accomplished, he still found himself seven pounds before-hand with the
world.

CHAPTER XI.

FRAUD CUTS HIS FINGERS WITH HIS OWN EDGED TOOLS.

Unpleasant as it is to feel obliged to be the usher of ill company, I
must now introduce to the fastidious public a brace of characters any
thing but reputable. It were possible indeed to slur them over with a
word; but I have deeper ends in view for a glance so superficial: we may
learn a lesson in charity, we may gain some schooling of the heart, even
from those "ladies-legatees."

Do you remember them, the supposititious nieces, aiders and abetters in
our stock-jobber's forged will? Two flashy, showy women, _not_ of easy
virtue, but of none at all--special intimates of John Dillaway, and the
genus of his like, and habitual frequenters of divers choice and
pleasant places of resort.

The reason of their introduction here is two-fold: first, they have to
play a part in our tale--a part of righteous retribution; and, secondly,
they have to instruct us incidentally in this lesson of true morals and
human charity--dread, denounce, and hate the sin, but feel a just
compassion for the sinner. Let us take the latter object first, and bear
with the brief epitome of facts which have blighted those unfortunates
to what they are.

Look at these two women, impudent brawlers, foul with vice: can there be
any excuses made for them, considered as distinct from their condition?
God knoweth: listen to their histories; and fear not that thy virtuous
glance will be harmed or misdirected, or a minute of thy precious time
ill-spent.

Anna Bates and Julia Manners (their latest _noms de guerre_ will serve
all nominative purposes as well as any other) had arrived at the same
lowest level of female degradation by very different downward roads.
Anna's father had been a country curate, unfortunate through life,
because utterly imprudent, and neither too wise a man nor too good a
one, or depend upon it his orphan could not have come to this: "Never
saw I the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." But the
father died carelessly as he had lived--in debt, with all his little
affairs at sixes and sevens; and his widow with her budding daughter,
saving almost nothing from the wreck, set up for milliners at Hull. Then
did the mother pique herself upon playing her cards clever