minded people see questions of morals so much better than
superior persons--who have read and thought themselves complex to
impotence. He had heard her voice, seen the frank light in her
eyes, and she had been weeping--that sufficed. The rights of the
case he hadn't properly grasped. But he would. And that smirking-
-well, swine was the mildest for him. He recalled the exceedingly
unpleasant incident of the railway bridge. "Thin we won't detain
yer, thenks," said Mr. Hoopdriver, aloud, in a strange,
unnatural, contemptible voice, supposed to represent that of
Bechamel. "Oh, the BEGGAR! I'll be level with him yet. He's
afraid of us detectives--that I'll SWEAR." (If Mrs. Wardor should
chance to be on the other side of the door within earshot, well
and good.)

For a space he meditated chastisements and revenges, physical
impossibilities for the most part,--Bechamel staggering headlong
from the impact of Mr. Hoopdriver's large, but, to tell the
truth, ill supported fist, Bechamel's five feet nine of height
lifted from the ground and quivering under a vigorously applied
horsewhip. So pleasant was such dreaming, that Mr. Hoopdriver's
peaked face under the moonlight was transfigured. One might have
paired him with that well-known and universally admired triumph,
'The Soul's Awakening,' so sweet was his ecstasy. And presently
with his thirst for revenge glutted by six or seven violent
assaults, a duel and two vigorous murders, his mind came round to
the Young Lady in Grey again.

She was a plucky one too. He went over the incident the barmaid
at the Angel had described to him. His thoughts ceased to be a
torrent, smoothed down to a mirror in which she was reflected