ustian, and a gemman as drives a coach," interrupted
Darvil, laughing bitterly, yet heartily. "Good--good!"

The banker rose. "I think you have made a very clever definition," said
he. "Half an hour--you recollect--good evening."

"Stay," said Darvil; "you are the first man I have seen for many a year
that I can take a fancy to. Sit down--sit down, I say, and talk a bit,
and we shall come to terms soon, I dare say;--that's right. Lord! how
I should like to have you on the roadside instead of within these four
gimcrack walls. Ha! ha! the argufying would be all in my favour then."

The banker was not a brave man, and his colour changed slightly at
the intimation of this obliging wish. Darvil eyed him grimly and
chucklingly.

The rich man resumed: "That may or may not be, Mr. Darvil, according as
I might happen or not to have pistols about me. But to the point. Quit
this house without further debate, without noise, without mentioning to
any one else your claim upon its owner--"

"Well, and the return?"

"Ten guineas now, and the same sum quarterly, as long as the young lady
lives in this town, and you never persecute her by word or letter."

"That is forty guineas a year. I can't live upon it."

"You will cost less in the House of Correction, Mr. Darvil."

"Come, make it a hundred: Alley is cheap at that."

"Not a farthing more," said the banker, buttoning up his breeches
pockets with a determined air.

"Well, out with the shiners."

"Do you promise or not?"

"I promise."

"There are your ten guineas. If in half an hour you are not gone--why,
then--"

"Then?"

"Why, then you have robbed me of ten guineas, and must take the usual
consequences of robbery."

Darvil started to his feet--his eyes glared--he grasped the
carving-knife before him.

"You are a bold fellow," said the banker, quietly; "but it won't do. It
is not worth your while to murder me; and I am a man sure to be missed."

Darvil sank down, sullen and foiled. The respectable man was more than a
match for the villain.

"Had you been as poor as I,--Gad! what a rogue you would have been!"

"I think not," said the banker; "I believe roguery to be a very bad
policy. Perhaps once I _was_ almost as poor as you are, but I never
turned rogue."

"You never were in my circumstances," returned Darvil, gloomily. "I
was a gentleman's son. Come, you shall hear my story. My father was
well-born, but married a maid-servant when he was at college; his