money came to him from an unknown quarter; and, with a break or two, have
come ever since up to this period. My old nurse-heaven bless her--
resumed the occupation of washing. I have stood by her tub, Richie,
blowing bubbles and listening to her prophecies of my exalted fortune for
hours. On my honour, I doubt, I seriously doubt, if I have ever been
happier. I depend just now--I have to avow it to you--slightly upon
stimulants . . . of a perfectly innocuous character. Mrs. Waddy will
allow me a pint of champagne. The truth is, Richie--you see these two or
three poor pensioners of mine, honi soit qui mal y pense--my mother has
had hard names thrown at her. The stones of these streets cry out to me
to have her vindicated. I am not tired; but I want my wine.'

He repeated several times before he reached his housedoor, that he wanted
his wine, in a manner to be almost alarming. His unwonted effort of
memory, the singular pictures of him which it had flashed before me, and
a sort of impatient compassion, made me forget my wrath. I saw him take
his restorative at one draught. He lay down on a sofa, and his valet
drew his boots off and threw a cloak over him. Lying there, he wished me
gaily good-night. Mrs. Waddy told me that he had adopted this system of
sleeping for the last month. 'Bless you, as many people call on him at
night now as in the day,' she said; and I was induced to suppose he had
some connection with the Press. She had implicit faith in his powers of
constitution, and would affirm, that he had been the death of dozens whom
the attraction had duped to imitate his habits. 'He is now a Field-
Marshal on his campaign.' She betrayed a twinkle of humour. He must
himself have favoured her with that remark. The report of the house-door
frequently shutting in the night suggested the passage of his aides-de-
camp.

Early in the morning, I found him pacing through the open doors of the