se, and send my poor George to prison. He has been the ruin of my
family, that man."

"Dev'lish sorry, Mrs. Brixham; pray take a chair. What can I do?"

"Could you not intercede with him for us? George will give half his
allowance; my daughter can send something. If you will but stay on, sir,
and pay a quarter's rent in advance----"

"My good madam, I would as soon give you a quarter in advance as not, if
I were going to stay in the lodgings. But I can't; and I can't afford
to fling away twenty pounds, my good madam. I'm a poor half-pay officer,
and want every shilling I have, begad. As far as a few pounds goes--say
five pounds--I don't say--and shall be most happy, and that sort of
thing: and I'll give it you in the morning with pleasure: but--but it's
getting late, and I have made a railroad journey."

"God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, drying her tears. I must
bear my fate."

"And a dev'lish hard one it is, and most sincerely I pity you, Mrs.
Brixham. I--I'll say ten pounds, if you will permit me. Good night."

"Mr. Morgan, sir, when he came downstairs, and when--when I besought him
to have pity on me, and told him he had been the ruin of my family,
said something which I did not well understand--that he would ruin
every family in the house--that he knew something would bring you down
too--and that you should pay him for your--your insolence to him. I--I
must own to you, that I went down on my knees to him, sir; and he said,
with a dreadful oath against you, that he would have you on your knees."

"Me?--by Gad, that is too pleasant! Where is the confounded fellow?"

"He went away, sir. He said he should see you in the morning. Oh, pray
try and pacify him, and save me and my poor boy." And the widow went
away with this prayer, to pass her night as she might, and look for the
dreadful morrow.

The last words about himself excited Major Pendennis so much, that his
compassion for Mrs. Brixham's misfortunes was quite forgotten in the
consideration of his own case.

"Me on my knees?" thought he, as he got into bed: "confound his
impudence! Who ever saw me on my knees? What the devil does the fellow
know? Gad, I've not had an affair these twenty years. I defy him." And
the old compaigner turned round and slept pretty sound, being rather
excited and amused by the events of the day--the last day in Bury
Street, he was determined it should be. "For it's impossible to stay on
with a valet over me, and a