ld with the
purpose of destroying him. How he did hate Walker and Bullbean and
the memory of that evening;--and yet the money which now enabled him
to drink champagne at the Penrith Crown was poor Mr. Walker's money!
As he was driven back to Penrith he thought of all this, for some
moments sadly, and at others almost with triumph. Might not a letter
to Mr. Hart, with perhaps a word of truth in it, do some good? That
evening, after his champagne, he wrote a letter:--

DEAR MR. HART,--Things are going uncommon well here, only
I hope you will do nothing to disturb just at present.
It _must_ come off, if a little time is given, and then
_every shilling_ will be paid. A few pounds more or less
won't make any difference. Do arrange this, and you'll
find I'll never forget how kind you have been. I've been
at Humblethwaite to-day, and things are going quite
smooth.

Yours most sincerely,

GEORGE HOTSPUR.

Don't mention Walker's name, and everything shall be
settled just as you shall fix.

The Crown, Penrith, Thursday.

The moment the letter was written he rang the bell and gave it to the
waiter. Such was the valour of drink operating on him now, as it had
done when he wrote that other letter to Sir Harry! The drink made him
brave to write, and to make attempts, and to dare consequences; but
even whilst brave with drink, he knew that the morning's prudence
would refuse its assent to such courage; and therefore, to save
himself from the effects of the morning's cowardice, he put the
letter at once out of his own power of control. After this fashion
were arranged most of Cousin George's affairs. Before dinner on
that day the evening of which he had passed with Mr. Walker, he had
resolved that certain hints given to him by Mr. Bullbean should be
of no avail to him;--not to that had he yet descended, nor would he
so descend;--but with his brandy after dinner divine courage had
come, and success had attended the brave. As soon as he was awake on
that morning after writing to Mr. Hart, he rang his bell to inquire
whether that letter which he had given to the waiter at twelve
o'clock last night were still in the house. It was too late. The
letter in which so imprudent a mention had been made of Mr. Walker's
name was already in the post. "Never mind," said Cousin George to
himself; "None but the brave deserve the fair." Then he turned round
for another nap. It was not much past nine,