pearances. One after the other was silently pronounced "the real Lord
Downy." Then came two or three sinister visages--faces half muffled up,
with educated features, small cunning eyes, and perhaps green
spectacles--conspirators every one--villains who had evidently conspired
to reduce Mr Moses's balance at his banker's, and to get fat at his
expense. Down went the spirits faster than they had mounted. The head,
as well as eyes of Mr Moses, now was aching.

His troubles grew complicated. Have we said that the general appearance
of Mr Moses, senior, was such as not to inspire immediate confidence on
the part of mankind in general, and police-officers in particular? It
should have been mentioned. The extraordinary conduct of the agitated
little gentleman had not failed to call forth the attention and
subsequent remarks of those who have charge of the public peace. First,
he was asked, "What business he had there?" Then he was requested "to
move on." What a request to make at such a moment! _Move on!_ Would that
thoughtless policeman have given Mr Moses three hundred precious
sovereigns to put himself in locomotion? Not he. Then came two or three
mysterious individuals, travellers apparently from the east, with long
beards, heavy bags on their backs, and sonorous voices, who had
evidently letters of introduction to Methusaleh, for they deposited
their burdens before him as they passed, and entered with him into
friendly conversation, or rather sought to do so; for he was proof
against temptation, and, for the first time in his life, not to be
charmed by any eastern talk of "first-rate bargains," and victories
obtained, by guile, over Christian butlers and such like serving-men.
The more the strangers surrounded him, the more he bobbed his head, and
fixed his piercing eye upon the door that wrought him so much agony.

An hour and a half! Exactly thirty minutes later than the time
prescribed by Aby! Oh, foolish old man, to part with his money! He
turned pale as death with inward grief, and resolved to wait no longer
for the faithless child. Not faithless, old Methusaleh--for, look again!
The old man rubs his eyes, and can't believe them. He has watched so
long in vain for that form, that he believes his disordered vision now
creates it. But he deceives himself. Aby indeed appears. His hands are a
hundred miles away from his hat, and a smile sits on the surface of his
countenance. "Oh, he has done the trick! Brave boy, good c