ullenly. "I have
done with them, and play, and the world, and everything."

"Which means," Sinson observed maliciously, "that you have lost your
money. Perhaps I can put you in the way of getting some. There's corn
in Egypt."

"What can you do?" asked Everope. "Pick the lock of the granary,
perchance? But I am desperate. Let me hear."

"Pooh!" said Michael. "I want a companion for a pretty long trip into
the country. One not troubled with over-nice scruples; do you note
me?"

"Then you may go somewhere else," cried Everope, who felt that he was
selling his soul past redemption.

"And you will go into the Fleet," added the tempter, "to lie there
till you die. Remember I have a considerable memorandum against you
in my pocket-book; and I shall find a friend to serve me all the same.
There's nothing that money won't buy; and there's plenty of it to be
won here. I offer it to you in kindness, as a friend."

And he jingled some gold in his pocket to give emphasis to his words.
Woe for Everope! He had made the step which costs: the rest were
comparatively easy. "True," thought he, "if I hold back, another will
be found. Already I am entangled with this scoundrel. And, after all,
there may be nothing bad in the business. Pish!

'Returning is as tedious as go o'er.'"

That same night Sinson started with his victim for Cornwall. He found
Everope quarters in a village at some little distance from Pendarrel,
while he himself went to Wilderness Gate, where his aged grandmother
received him with doting partiality. But he did not wish to attract
more attention than he could help. He showed Everope about the
neighbourhood of Trevethlan, pointed out the chief features of the
locality, and in particular made him notice the approach to the
castle.

There was no harm so far, and Everope rather marvelled that for this
trivial survey he should have been brought such a distance. From
Trevethlan Michael conducted his slave two or three miles along the
coast to a cottage which stood somewhat retired.

"By the bye," he said, as they approached the modest dwelling, "I
think you were at college, Everope. How long ago?"

"About twenty years," answered the spendthrift with a deep sigh.

"Was there any one there of the name of Ashton in your time?"

"I seem to remember the name," the spendthrift said, musing. "Ashton?
yes, a rowing man, I think--yes, went into the church afterwards. I
recollect now. But he was a good deal my sen