Our Mutual Friend

by Charles Dickens

  Chapter 10

  SCOUTS OUT

  'And so, Miss Wren,' said Mr Eugene Wrayburn, 'I cannot persuade you todress me a doll?'

  'No,' replied Miss Wren snappishly; 'if you want one, go and buy one atthe shop.'

  'And my charming young goddaughter,' said Mr Wrayburn plaintively, 'downin Hertfordshire--'

  ('Humbugshire you mean, I think,' interposed Miss Wren.)

  '--is to be put upon the cold footing of the general public, and isto derive no advantage from my private acquaintance with the CourtDressmaker?'

  'If it's any advantage to your charming godchild--and oh, a preciousgodfather she has got!'--replied Miss Wren, pricking at him in the airwith her needle, 'to be informed that the Court Dressmaker knowsyour tricks and your manners, you may tell her so by post, with mycompliments.'

  Miss Wren was busy at her work by candle-light, and Mr Wrayburn, halfamused and half vexed, and all idle and shiftless, stood by her benchlooking on. Miss Wren's troublesome child was in the corner in deepdisgrace, and exhibiting great wretchedness in the shivering stage ofprostration from drink.

  'Ugh, you disgraceful boy!' exclaimed Miss Wren, attracted by the soundof his chattering teeth, 'I wish they'd all drop down your throat andplay at dice in your stomach! Boh, wicked child! Bee-baa, black sheep!'

  On her accompanying each of these reproaches with a threatening stamp ofthe foot, the wretched creature protested with a whine.

  'Pay five shillings for you indeed!' Miss Wren proceeded; 'how manyhours do you suppose it costs me to earn five shillings, you infamousboy?--Don't cry like that, or I'll throw a doll at you. Pay fiveshillings fine for you indeed. Fine in more ways than one, I think! I'dgive the dustman five shillings, to carry you off in the dust cart.'

  'No, no,' pleaded the absurd creature. 'Please!'

  'He's enough to break his mother's heart, is this boy,' said Miss Wren,half appealing to Eugene. 'I wish I had never brought him up. He'd besharper than a serpent's tooth, if he wasn't as dull as ditch water.Look at him. There's a pretty object for a parent's eyes!'

  Assuredly, in his worse than swinish state (for swine at least fatten ontheir guzzling, and make themselves good to eat), he was a pretty objectfor any eyes.

  'A muddling and a swipey old child,' said Miss Wren, rating him withgreat severity, 'fit for nothing but to be preserved in the liquorthat destroys him, and put in a great glass bottle as a sight for otherswipey children of his own pattern,--if he has no consideration for hisliver, has he none for his mother?'

  'Yes. Deration, oh don't!' cried the subject of these angry remarks.

  'Oh don't and oh don't,' pursued Miss Wren. 'It's oh do and oh do. Andwhy do you?'

  'Won't do so any more. Won't indeed. Pray!'

  'There!' said Miss Wren, covering her eyes with her hand. 'I can'tbear to look at you. Go up stairs and get me my bonnet and shawl. Makeyourself useful in some way, bad boy, and let me have your room insteadof your company, for one half minute.'

  Obeying her, he shambled out, and Eugene Wrayburn saw the tears exudefrom between the little creature's fingers as she kept her hand beforeher eyes. He was sorry, but his sympathy did not move his carelessnessto do anything but feel sorry.

  'I'm going to the Italian Opera to try on,' said Miss Wren, taking awayher hand after a little while, and laughing satirically to hide that shehad been crying; 'I must see your back before I go, Mr Wrayburn. Let mefirst tell you, once for all, that it's of no use your paying visitsto me. You wouldn't get what you want, of me, no, not if you broughtpincers with you to tear it out.'

  'Are you so obstinate on the subject of a doll's dress for my godchild?'

  'Ah!' returned Miss Wren with a hitch of her chin, 'I am soobstinate. And of course it's on the subject of a doll's dress--orADdress--whichever you like. Get along and give it up!'

  Her degraded charge had come back, and was standing behind her with thebonnet and shawl.

  'Give 'em to me and get back into your corner, you naughty old thing!'said Miss Wren, as she turned and espied him. 'No, no, I won't have yourhelp. Go into your corner, this minute!'

  The miserable man, feebly rubbing the back of his faltering handsdownward from the wrists, shuffled on to his post of disgrace; but notwithout a curious glance at Eugene in passing him, accompanied with whatseemed as if it might have been an action of his elbow, if any action ofany limb or joint he had, would have answered truly to his will. Takingno more particular notice of him than instinctively falling away fromthe disagreeable contact, Eugene, with a lazy compliment or so to MissWren, begged leave to light his cigar, and departed.

  'Now you prodigal old son,' said Jenny, shaking her head and heremphatic little forefinger at her burden, 'you sit there till I comeback. You dare to move out of your corner for a single instant while I'mgone, and I'll know the reason why.'

  With this admonition, she blew her work candles out, leaving him to thelight of the fire, and, taking her big door-key in her pocket and hercrutch-stick in her hand, marched off.

  Eugene lounged slowly towards the Temple, smoking his cigar, but sawno more of the dolls' dressmaker, through the accident of their takingopposite sides of the street. He lounged along moodily, and stopped atCharing Cross to look about him, with as little interest in the crowdas any man might take, and was lounging on again, when a most unexpectedobject caught his eyes. No less an object than Jenny Wren's bad boytrying to make up his mind to cross the road.

  A more ridiculous and feeble spectacle than this tottering wretch makingunsteady sallies into the roadway, and as often staggering back again,oppressed by terrors of vehicles that were a long way off or werenowhere, the streets could not have shown. Over and over again, when thecourse was perfectly clear, he set out, got half way, described a loop,turned, and went back again; when he might have crossed and re-crossedhalf a dozen times. Then, he would stand shivering on the edge of thepavement, looking up the street and looking down, while scores of peoplejostled him, and crossed, and went on. Stimulated in course of timeby the sight of so many successes, he would make another sally, makeanother loop, would all but have his foot on the opposite pavement,would see or imagine something coming, and would stagger back again.There, he would stand making spasmodic preparations as if for a greatleap, and at last would decide on a start at precisely the wrong moment,and would be roared at by drivers, and would shrink back once more, andstand in the old spot shivering, with the whole of the proceedings to gothrough again.

  'It strikes me,' remarked Eugene coolly, after watching him for someminutes, 'that my friend is likely to be rather behind time if he hasany appointment on hand.' With which remark he strolled on, and took nofurther thought of him.

  Lightwood was at home when he got to the Chambers, and had dined alonethere. Eugene drew a chair to the fire by which he was having his wineand reading the evening paper, and brought a glass, and filled it forgood fellowship's sake.

  'My dear Mortimer, you are the express picture of contented industry,reposing (on credit) after the virtuous labours of the day.'

  'My dear Eugene, you are the express picture of discontented idlenessnot reposing at all. Where have you been?'

  'I have been,' replied Wrayburn, '--about town. I have turned up at thepresent juncture, with the intention of consulting my highly intelligentand respected solicitor on the position of my affairs.'

  'Your highly intelligent and respect solicitor is of opinion that youraffairs are in a bad way, Eugene.'

  'Though whether,' said Eugene thoughtfully, 'that can be intelligentlysaid, now, of the affairs of a client who has nothing to lose and whocannot possibly be made to pay, may be open to question.'

  'You have fallen into the hands of the Jews, Eugene.'

  'My dear boy,' returned the debtor, very composedly taking up his glass,'having previously fallen into the hands of some of the Christians, Ican bear it with philosophy.'

  'I have had an interview to-day, Eugene, with a Jew, who seemsdetermined to press us hard. Quite a Shylock,
and quite a Patriarch. Apicturesque grey-headed and grey-bearded old Jew, in a shovel-hat andgaberdine.'

  'Not,' said Eugene, pausing in setting down his glass, 'surely not myworthy friend Mr Aaron?'

  'He calls himself Mr Riah.'

  'By-the-by,' said Eugene, 'it comes into my mind that--no doubt with aninstinctive desire to receive him into the bosom of our Church--I gavehim the name of Aaron!'

  'Eugene, Eugene,' returned Lightwood, 'you are more ridiculous thanusual. Say what you mean.'

  'Merely, my dear fellow, that I have the honour and pleasure of aspeaking acquaintance with such a Patriarch as you describe, and that Iaddress him as Mr Aaron, because it appears to me Hebraic, expressive,appropriate, and complimentary. Notwithstanding which strong reasons forits being his name, it may not be his name.'

  'I believe you are the absurdest man on the face of the earth,' saidLightwood, laughing.

  'Not at all, I assure you. Did he mention that he knew me?'

  'He did not. He only said of you that he expected to be paid by you.'

  'Which looks,' remarked Eugene with much gravity, 'like NOT knowing me.I hope it may not be my worthy friend Mr Aaron, for, to tell you thetruth, Mortimer, I doubt he may have a prepossession against me. Istrongly suspect him of having had a hand in spiriting away Lizzie.'

  'Everything,' returned Lightwood impatiently, 'seems, by a fatality,to bring us round to Lizzie. "About town" meant about Lizzie, just now,Eugene.'

  'My solicitor, do you know,' observed Eugene, turning round to thefurniture, 'is a man of infinite discernment!'

  'Did it not, Eugene?'

  'Yes it did, Mortimer.'

  'And yet, Eugene, you know you do not really care for her.'

  Eugene Wrayburn rose, and put his hands in his pockets, and stood with afoot on the fender, indolently rocking his body and looking at the fire.After a prolonged pause, he replied: 'I don't know that. I must ask younot to say that, as if we took it for granted.'

  'But if you do care for her, so much the more should you leave her toherself.'

  Having again paused as before, Eugene said: 'I don't know that, either.But tell me. Did you ever see me take so much trouble about anything, asabout this disappearance of hers? I ask, for information.'

  'My dear Eugene, I wish I ever had!'

  'Then you have not? Just so. You confirm my own impression. Does thatlook as if I cared for her? I ask, for information.'

  'I asked YOU for information, Eugene,' said Mortimer reproachfully.

  'Dear boy, I know it, but I can't give it. I thirst for information.What do I mean? If my taking so much trouble to recover her does notmean that I care for her, what does it mean? "If Peter Piper picked apeck of pickled pepper, where's the peck," &c.?'

  Though he said this gaily, he said it with a perplexed and inquisitiveface, as if he actually did not know what to make of himself. 'Look onto the end--' Lightwood was beginning to remonstrate, when he caught atthe words:

  'Ah! See now! That's exactly what I am incapable of doing. How veryacute you are, Mortimer, in finding my weak place! When we were atschool together, I got up my lessons at the last moment, day by day andbit by bit; now we are out in life together, I get up my lessons in thesame way. In the present task I have not got beyond this:--I am benton finding Lizzie, and I mean to find her, and I will take any meansof finding her that offer themselves. Fair means or foul means, are allalike to me. I ask you--for information--what does that mean? When Ihave found her I may ask you--also for information--what do I mean now?But it would be premature in this stage, and it's not the character ofmy mind.'

  Lightwood was shaking his head over the air with which his friend heldforth thus--an air so whimsically open and argumentative as almost todeprive what he said of the appearance of evasion--when a shuffling washeard at the outer door, and then an undecided knock, as thoughsome hand were groping for the knocker. 'The frolicsome youth of theneighbourhood,' said Eugene, 'whom I should be delighted to pitch fromthis elevation into the churchyard below, without any intermediateceremonies, have probably turned the lamp out. I am on duty to-night,and will see to the door.'

  His friend had barely had time to recall the unprecedented gleam ofdetermination with which he had spoken of finding this girl, and whichhad faded out of him with the breath of the spoken words, when Eugenecame back, ushering in a most disgraceful shadow of a man, shaking fromhead to foot, and clothed in shabby grease and smear.

  'This interesting gentleman,' said Eugene, 'is the son--theoccasionally rather trying son, for he has his failings--of a lady of myacquaintance. My dear Mortimer--Mr Dolls.' Eugene had no idea what hisname was, knowing the little dressmaker's to be assumed, but presentedhim with easy confidence under the first appellation that hisassociations suggested.

  'I gather, my dear Mortimer,' pursued Eugene, as Lightwood stared atthe obscene visitor, 'from the manner of Mr Dolls--which is occasionallycomplicated--that he desires to make some communication to me. I havementioned to Mr Dolls that you and I are on terms of confidence, andhave requested Mr Dolls to develop his views here.'

  The wretched object being much embarrassed by holding what remainedof his hat, Eugene airily tossed it to the door, and put him down in achair.

  'It will be necessary, I think,' he observed, 'to wind up Mr Dolls,before anything to any mortal purpose can be got out of him. Brandy, MrDolls, or--?'

  'Threepenn'orth Rum,' said Mr Dolls.

  A judiciously small quantity of the spirit was given him in awine-glass, and he began to convey it to his mouth, with all kinds offalterings and gyrations on the road.

  'The nerves of Mr Dolls,' remarked Eugene to Lightwood, 'areconsiderably unstrung. And I deem it on the whole expedient to fumigateMr Dolls.'

  He took the shovel from the grate, sprinkled a few live ashes on it, andfrom a box on the chimney-piece took a few pastiles, which he set uponthem; then, with great composure began placidly waving the shovel infront of Mr Dolls, to cut him off from his company.

  'Lord bless my soul, Eugene!' cried Lightwood, laughing again, 'what amad fellow you are! Why does this creature come to see you?'

  'We shall hear,' said Wrayburn, very observant of his face withal. 'Nowthen. Speak out. Don't be afraid. State your business, Dolls.'

  'Mist Wrayburn!' said the visitor, thickly and huskily. '--'TIS MistWrayburn, ain't?' With a stupid stare.

  'Of course it is. Look at me. What do you want?'

  Mr Dolls collapsed in his chair, and faintly said 'Threepenn'orth Rum.'

  'Will you do me the favour, my dear Mortimer, to wind up Mr Dollsagain?' said Eugene. 'I am occupied with the fumigation.'

  A similar quantity was poured into his glass, and he got it to his lipsby similar circuitous ways. Having drunk it, Mr Dolls, with an evidentfear of running down again unless he made haste, proceeded to business.

  'Mist Wrayburn. Tried to nudge you, but you wouldn't. You want thatdrection. You want t'know where she lives. DO you Mist Wrayburn?'

  With a glance at his friend, Eugene replied to the question sternly, 'Ido.'

  'I am er man,' said Mr Dolls, trying to smite himself on the breast, butbringing his hand to bear upon the vicinity of his eye, 'er do it. I amer man er do it.'

  'What are you the man to do?' demanded Eugene, still sternly.

  'Er give up that drection.'

  'Have you got it?'

  With a most laborious attempt at pride and dignity, Mr Dolls rolledhis head for some time, awakening the highest expectations, and thenanswered, as if it were the happiest point that could possibly beexpected of him: 'No.'

  'What do you mean then?'

  Mr Dolls, collapsing in the drowsiest manner after his late intellectualtriumph, replied: 'Threepenn'orth Rum.'

  'Wind him up again, my dear Mortimer,' said Wrayburn; 'wind him upagain.'

  'Eugene, Eugene,' urged Lightwood in a low voice, as he complied, 'canyou stoop to the use of such an instrument as this?'

  'I said,' was the reply, made with
that former gleam of determination,'that I would find her out by any means, fair or foul. These are foul,and I'll take them--if I am not first tempted to break the head of MrDolls with the fumigator. Can you get the direction? Do you mean that?Speak! If that's what you have come for, say how much you want.'

  'Ten shillings--Threepenn'orths Rum,' said Mr Dolls.

  'You shall have it.'

  'Fifteen shillings--Threepenn'orths Rum,' said Mr Dolls, making anattempt to stiffen himself.

  'You shall have it. Stop at that. How will you get the direction youtalk of?'

  'I am er man,' said Mr Dolls, with majesty, 'er get it, sir.'

  'How will you get it, I ask you?'

  'I am ill-used vidual,' said Mr Dolls. 'Blown up morning t'night. Callednames. She makes Mint money, sir, and never stands Threepenn'orth Rum.'

  'Get on,' rejoined Eugene, tapping his palsied head with thefire-shovel, as it sank on his breast. 'What comes next?'

  Making a dignified attempt to gather himself together, but, as it were,dropping half a dozen pieces of himself while he tried in vain to pickup one, Mr Dolls, swaying his head from side to side, regarded hisquestioner with what he supposed to be a haughty smile and a scornfulglance.

  'She looks upon me as mere child, sir. I am NOT mere child, sir. Man.Man talent. Lerrers pass betwixt 'em. Postman lerrers. Easy for mantalent er get drection, as get his own drection.'

  'Get it then,' said Eugene; adding very heartily under his breath,'--You Brute! Get it, and bring it here to me, and earn the money forsixty threepenn'orths of rum, and drink them all, one a top of another,and drink yourself dead with all possible expedition.' The latterclauses of these special instructions he addressed to the fire, as hegave it back the ashes he had taken from it, and replaced the shovel.

  Mr Dolls now struck out the highly unexpected discovery that he had beeninsulted by Lightwood, and stated his desire to 'have it out with him'on the spot, and defied him to come on, upon the liberal terms ofa sovereign to a halfpenny. Mr Dolls then fell a crying, and thenexhibited a tendency to fall asleep. This last manifestation as by farthe most alarming, by reason of its threatening his prolonged stayon the premises, necessitated vigorous measures. Eugene picked up hisworn-out hat with the tongs, clapped it on his head, and, taking him bythe collar--all this at arm's length--conducted him down stairs and outof the precincts into Fleet Street. There, he turned his face westward,and left him.

  When he got back, Lightwood was standing over the fire, brooding in asufficiently low-spirited manner.

  'I'll wash my hands of Mr Dolls physically--' said Eugene, 'and be withyou again directly, Mortimer.'

  'I would much prefer,' retorted Mortimer, 'your washing your hands of MrDolls, morally, Eugene.'

  'So would I,' said Eugene; 'but you see, dear boy, I can't do withouthim.'

  In a minute or two he resumed his chair, as perfectly unconcerned asusual, and rallied his friend on having so narrowly escaped the prowessof their muscular visitor.

  'I can't be amused on this theme,' said Mortimer, restlessly. 'You canmake almost any theme amusing to me, Eugene, but not this.'

  'Well!' cried Eugene, 'I am a little ashamed of it myself, and thereforelet us change the subject.'

  'It is so deplorably underhanded,' said Mortimer. 'It is so unworthy ofyou, this setting on of such a shameful scout.'

  'We have changed the subject!' exclaimed Eugene, airily. 'We have founda new one in that word, scout. Don't be like Patience on a mantelpiecefrowning at Dolls, but sit down, and I'll tell you something that youreally will find amusing. Take a cigar. Look at this of mine. Ilight it--draw one puff--breathe the smoke out--there it goes--it'sDolls!--it's gone--and being gone you are a man again.'

  'Your subject,' said Mortimer, after lighting a cigar, and comfortinghimself with a whiff or two, 'was scouts, Eugene.'

  'Exactly. Isn't it droll that I never go out after dark, but I findmyself attended, always by one scout, and often by two?'

  Lightwood took his cigar from his lips in surprise, and looked at hisfriend, as if with a latent suspicion that there must be a jest orhidden meaning in his words.

  'On my honour, no,' said Wrayburn, answering the look and smilingcarelessly; 'I don't wonder at your supposing so, but on my honour, no.I say what I mean. I never go out after dark, but I find myself in theludicrous situation of being followed and observed at a distance, alwaysby one scout, and often by two.'

  'Are you sure, Eugene?'

  'Sure? My dear boy, they are always the same.'

  'But there's no process out against you. The Jews only threaten. Theyhave done nothing. Besides, they know where to find you, and I representyou. Why take the trouble?'

  'Observe the legal mind!' remarked Eugene, turning round to thefurniture again, with an air of indolent rapture. 'Observe the dyer'shand, assimilating itself to what it works in,--or would work in, ifanybody would give it anything to do. Respected solicitor, it's notthat. The schoolmaster's abroad.'

  'The schoolmaster?'

  'Ay! Sometimes the schoolmaster and the pupil are both abroad. Why, howsoon you rust in my absence! You don't understand yet? Those fellowswho were here one night. They are the scouts I speak of, as doing me thehonour to attend me after dark.'

  'How long has this been going on?' asked Lightwood, opposing a seriousface to the laugh of his friend.

  'I apprehend it has been going on, ever since a certain person went off.Probably, it had been going on some little time before I noticed it:which would bring it to about that time.'

  'Do you think they suppose you to have inveigled her away?'

  'My dear Mortimer, you know the absorbing nature of my professionaloccupations; I really have not had leisure to think about it.'

  'Have you asked them what they want? Have you objected?'

  'Why should I ask them what they want, dear fellow, when I amindifferent what they want? Why should I express objection, when I don'tobject?'

  'You are in your most reckless mood. But you called the situation justnow, a ludicrous one; and most men object to that, even those who areutterly indifferent to everything else.'

  'You charm me, Mortimer, with your reading of my weaknesses. (By-the-by,that very word, Reading, in its critical use, always charms me. Anactress's Reading of a chambermaid, a dancer's Reading of a hornpipe, asinger's Reading of a song, a marine painter's Reading of the sea,the kettle-drum's Reading of an instrumental passage, are phrasesever youthful and delightful.) I was mentioning your perception of myweaknesses. I own to the weakness of objecting to occupy a ludicrousposition, and therefore I transfer the position to the scouts.'

  'I wish, Eugene, you would speak a little more soberly and plainly, ifit were only out of consideration for my feeling less at ease than youdo.'

  'Then soberly and plainly, Mortimer, I goad the schoolmaster to madness.I make the schoolmaster so ridiculous, and so aware of being maderidiculous, that I see him chafe and fret at every pore when we crossone another. The amiable occupation has been the solace of my life,since I was baulked in the manner unnecessary to recall. I have derivedinexpressible comfort from it. I do it thus: I stroll out after dark,stroll a little way, look in at a window and furtively look out for theschoolmaster. Sooner or later, I perceive the schoolmaster on the watch;sometimes accompanied by his hopeful pupil; oftener, pupil-less. Havingmade sure of his watching me, I tempt him on, all over London. Onenight I go east, another night north, in a few nights I go all round thecompass. Sometimes, I walk; sometimes, I proceed in cabs, draining thepocket of the schoolmaster who then follows in cabs. I study and getup abstruse No Thoroughfares in the course of the day. With Venetianmystery I seek those No Thoroughfares at night, glide into them by meansof dark courts, tempt the schoolmaster to follow, turn suddenly, andcatch him before he can retreat. Then we face one another, and I passhim as unaware of his existence, and he undergoes grinding torments.Similarly, I walk at a great pace down a short street, rapidly turn thecorner, and, getting out of his view, as rapidly turn
back. I catch himcoming on post, again pass him as unaware of his existence, and againhe undergoes grinding torments. Night after night his disappointment isacute, but hope springs eternal in the scholastic breast, and he followsme again to-morrow. Thus I enjoy the pleasures of the chase, and derivegreat benefit from the healthful exercise. When I do not enjoy thepleasures of the chase, for anything I know he watches at the TempleGate all night.'

  'This is an extraordinary story,' observed Lightwood, who had heard itout with serious attention. 'I don't like it.'

  'You are a little hipped, dear fellow,' said Eugene; 'you have been toosedentary. Come and enjoy the pleasures of the chase.'

  'Do you mean that you believe he is watching now?'

  'I have not the slightest doubt he is.'

  'Have you seen him to-night?'

  'I forgot to look for him when I was last out,' returned Eugene with thecalmest indifference; 'but I dare say he was there. Come! Be a Britishsportsman and enjoy the pleasures of the chase. It will do you good.'

  Lightwood hesitated; but, yielding to his curiosity, rose.

  'Bravo!' cried Eugene, rising too. 'Or, if Yoicks would be in betterkeeping, consider that I said Yoicks. Look to your feet, Mortimer, forwe shall try your boots. When you are ready, I am--need I say with a HeyHo Chivey, and likewise with a Hark Forward, Hark Forward, Tantivy?'

  'Will nothing make you serious?' said Mortimer, laughing through hisgravity.

  'I am always serious, but just now I am a little excited by the gloriousfact that a southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim a hunting evening.Ready? So. We turn out the lamp and shut the door, and take the field.'

  As the two friends passed out of the Temple into the public street,Eugene demanded with a show of courteous patronage in which directionMortimer would you like the run to be? 'There is a rather difficultcountry about Bethnal Green,' said Eugene, 'and we have not taken inthat direction lately. What is your opinion of Bethnal Green?' Mortimerassented to Bethnal Green, and they turned eastward. 'Now, when we cometo St Paul's churchyard,' pursued Eugene, 'we'll loiter artfully, andI'll show you the schoolmaster.' But, they both saw him, before they gotthere; alone, and stealing after them in the shadow of the houses, onthe opposite side of the way.

  'Get your wind,' said Eugene, 'for I am off directly. Does it occurto you that the boys of Merry England will begin to deteriorate in aneducational light, if this lasts long? The schoolmaster can't attend tome and the boys too. Got your wind? I am off!'

  At what a rate he went, to breathe the schoolmaster; and how he thenlounged and loitered, to put his patience to another kind of wear;what preposterous ways he took, with no other object on earth than todisappoint and punish him; and how he wore him out by every piece ofingenuity that his eccentric humour could devise; all this Lightwoodnoted, with a feeling of astonishment that so careless a man could be sowary, and that so idle a man could take so much trouble. At last, far onin the third hour of the pleasures of the chase, when he had brought thepoor dogging wretch round again into the City, he twisted Mortimer upa few dark entries, twisted him into a little square court, twisted himsharp round again, and they almost ran against Bradley Headstone.

  'And you see, as I was saying, Mortimer,' remarked Eugene aloud withthe utmost coolness, as though there were no one within hearingby themselves: 'and you see, as I was saying--undergoing grindingtorments.'

  It was not too strong a phrase for the occasion. Looking like the huntedand not the hunter, baffled, worn, with the exhaustion of deferredhope and consuming hate and anger in his face, white-lipped, wild-eyed,draggle-haired, seamed with jealousy and anger, and torturing himselfwith the conviction that he showed it all and they exulted in it, hewent by them in the dark, like a haggard head suspended in the air: socompletely did the force of his expression cancel his figure.

  Mortimer Lightwood was not an extraordinarily impressible man, but thisface impressed him. He spoke of it more than once on the remainder ofthe way home, and more than once when they got home.

  They had been abed in their respective rooms two or three hours, whenEugene was partly awakened by hearing a footstep going about, and wasfully awakened by seeing Lightwood standing at his bedside.

  'Nothing wrong, Mortimer?'

  'No.'

  'What fancy takes you, then, for walking about in the night?'

  'I am horribly wakeful.'

  'How comes that about, I wonder!'

  'Eugene, I cannot lose sight of that fellow's face.'

  'Odd!' said Eugene with a light laugh, 'I can.' And turned over, andfell asleep again.