en so long a prisoner, that she was
confused by the sudden change in her prospects. I went into her room,
and assisted her in packing her meagre wardrobe. She had put on a
well-worn black silk dress, and an antiquated bonnet lay on the table. I
told her to take only such clothing as she would need immediately, for I
saw that most of her wearing apparel was not worth the transportation.
Having thrust these articles into a carpet-bag, I hurried her out of the
house to the carriage which was waiting for me at the door.

We reached the station in time for the London train. My mother was
excited, and I did not permit her to speak of the past. I kept up a
lively conversation, and did not allow her to think of her wrongs and
her sorrows. On our arrival, we went to Morley's, where I obtained a
room for her. Mr. Solomons had just arrived. He had received the
telegraphic despatch in Liverpool. I hastily told him my story, and what
I had done since my arrival in London.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed he, "you have done wonders. I was sure you were
lost overboard. No one had seen you, or heard anything of you; only the
officers and sailors had warned you not to sit on the rail."

"Where is Dunkswell?" I asked.

"He came to London in the same train I did."

At my request Mr. Solomons accompanied me to the office of Bunyard. When
we entered, Dunkswell was there. Both of them had found out that
"somebody" was smart.

"Young man, you have deceived me!" said Bunyard, savagely.

"The wicked deceiveth himself," I replied, in words better than my own.
"I have called to say that you need give yourself no further trouble in
regard to Mrs. Thornton. I wish to tell you now that she is in London,
and that she is my mother."

"I must be paid--"

"Paid!" I interposed. "I'll pay you! We are not far from Newgate, and if
my mother is willing, I will help you to lodgings there. As for you, E.
Dunkswell, you can go back to Tom Thornton, and tell him you have burnt
your fingers. You helped me overboard."

"I!" exclaimed he, with quivering lip.

"Did he?" asked Mr. Solomons.

"I believe he did; perhaps I can prove it."

E. Dunkswell sank into a chair, pale as a ghost. Bunyard looked cheap,
and said no more about being paid, and I retired from the presence of my
defeated foes. Mr. Solomons insisted that they should be punished,
especially Dunkswell, but I told him I could not prove that he had
pushed me overboard; and I could not stay in Londo