CHAPTER XVII.

"Dices laborantes in uno
Penelopen vitreamque Circen."--HORAT.

Mrs. Crane found Poole in his little sitting-room, hung round with prints
of opera-dancers, prize-fighters, race-horses, and the dog Billy. Samuel
Dolly was in full dress. His cheeks, usually so pale, seemed much
flushed. He was evidently in a state of high excitement, bowed extremely
low to Mrs. Crane, called her Countess, asked if she had been lately on
the Continent and if she knew Madame Caumartin, and whether the nobility
at St. Petersburg were jolly, or stuck-up fellows, who gave themselves
airs,--not waiting for her answer. In fact his mind was unquestionably
disordered.

Arabella Crane abruptly laid her hand on his shoulder. "You are going to
the gallows," she said suddenly. "Down on your knees, and tell me all,
and I will keep your secret, and save you; lie, and you are lost!"

Poole burst into tears, and dropped on his knees as he was told.

In ten minutes Mrs. Crane knew all that she cared to know, possessed
herself of Losely's letters, and, leaving Poole less light-headed and
more light-hearted, she hastened to Uncle Sam at the Gloucester Coffee-
house. "Take your nephew, out of town this evening, and do not let him
from your sight for the next six months. Hark you, he will never be a
good man; but you may save him from the hulks. Do so. Take my advice."