having satisfactorily finished the inquisition into Mr. Smoothson's
pockets, drew forth from his own pouch a tolerably thick rope; with this
he tied the hands of the prostrate valet, moralizing as he wound the rope
round and round the wrists of the fallen man, in the following edifying
strain:--

"Lie still, sir,--lie still, I beseech you! All wise men are fatalists;
and no proverb is more pithy than that which says, 'What can't be cured
must be endured.' Lie still, I tell you! Little, perhaps, do you think
that you are performing one of the noblest functions of humanity; yes,
sir, you are filling the pockets of the destitute; and by my present
action I am securing you from any weakness of the flesh likely to impede
so praiseworthy an end, and so hazard the excellence of your action.
There, sir, your hands are tight,--lie still and reflect."

As he said this, with three gentle applications of his feet, the moralist
rolled Mr. Smoothson into the ditch, and hastened to join his lengthy
comrade in his pleasing occupation.

In the interim Mauleverer and the third robber (who, in the true spirit
of government, remained dignified and inactive while his followers
plundered what he certainly designed to share, if not to monopolize)
stood within a few feet of each other, face to face.

Mauleverer had now convinced himself that all endeavour to save his
property was hopeless, and he had also the consolation of thinking he had
done his best to defend it. He therefore bade all his thoughts return to
the care of his person. He adjusted his fur collar around his neck with
great sang froid, drew on his gloves, and, patting his terrified poodle,
who sat shivering on its haunches with one paw raised and nervously