accept them--a moderate sum down; say a few hundreds, and two hundred a-
year to spend in London as I will--but out of your beat, out of your
sight and hearing. Grant this, and I will never cross you again--never
attempt to find, and, if I find by chance, never claim as my child by
your daughter that wandering girl. I will never shame you by naming our
connection. I will not offend the law, nor die by the hangman; yet I
shall not live long, for I suffer much, and I drink hard."

The last words were spoken gloomily, not altogether without a strange
dreary pathos. And amidst all his just scorn and anger, the large human
heart of Guy Darrell was for the moment touched. He was silent--his mind
hesitated; would it not be well--would it not be just as safe to his own
peace, and to that of the poor child, whom, no matter what her parentage,
Darrell could not but desire to free from the claim set up by so bold a
ruffian, to gratify Losely's wish, and let him remain in England, upon an
allowance that would suffice for his subsistence? Unluckily for Jasper,
it was while this doubt passed through Darrell's relenting mind, that the
miscreant, who was shrewd enough to see that he had gained ground, but
too coarse of apprehension to ascribe his advantage to its right cause,
thought to strengthen his case by additional arguments. "You see, sir,"
resumed Jasper, in almost familiar accents, "that there is no dog so
toothless but what he can bite, and no dog so savage but what, if you
give him plenty to eat, he will serve you."

Darrell looked up, and his brow darkened.

Jasper continued: "I have hinted how I might plague you; perhaps, on the
other hand, I might do you a good turn with that handsome lady who drove
from your park-gate as I came up. Ah! you were once to have been married
to her. I read in the newspapers that she has become a widow; you may