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Updated: May 21, 2025
The muttered remark had just passed Sir James's lips when there came a tap at the door, and Aspel stood before him. But how changed from what he was when we last saw him, reader! His aspect might have forcibly recalled the words, "was lost and is found." His tall, broad frame stood erect again as of old, but the proud bearing of the head was gone.
Aspel was a practised diver. Many a time had he tried his powers under the Atlantic waves on the west of Ireland. He drew one long breath, and was in the attic kitchen before it was expended. Here he found little Pax and Tottie on the floor. The former had fallen, suffocated, in the act of hauling the latter along by the hair of the head. Aspel did not see them.
"It'll do 'im good, p'r'aps. He don't get that every day, an' it won't 'urt 'im." Aspel found himself suddenly in the dark passage, and heard the door slammed. His first impulse was to turn, dash in the door with his foot, and take vengeance on Abel Bones, his next to burst into a sardonic laugh. Thereafter he frowned fiercely, and strode away.
Good-night, sir," added the red-coated official, with a pleasant nod, as he turned and entered the great building, where a huge proportion of this amazing work was being at that moment actively manipulated. As the great bell of St. Paul's struck the half-hour, George Aspel was reminded of the main object of his visit to that part of the City.
It was not by any means their first meeting since the recovery of Aspel, but, as we have said, the latter had kept out of the way of old friends, and Phil was only partially excepted from the rule. "The very man I wanted to see!" cried Phil, with gleaming eyes, as he seized his friend's hand. "I've got mother over to London at last. She's longing to see you. Come out with me this evening do.
To the few distant ones he possessed he left legacies, and in his will stated that he left the rest of his fortune which, although not large, is considerable to George Aspel, in the firm belief that by so doing he was leaving it to further the cause of Christianity and Temperance."
Phil Maylands was a hero-worshipper. At the time when our tale opens he worshipped a youth the son of a retired naval officer, who possessed at least some of the qualities that are occasionally found in a hero. George Aspel was daring, genial, enthusiastic, tall, broad-shouldered, active, and young about twenty. But George had a tendency to dissipation.
Thus admonished, he spoke, without knowing why in a subdued voice. "You are surprised to see me, Tottie?" "I'm surprised at nothink, sir. 'Taint possible to surprise me with anythink in this life." "D'you expect to be surprised by anything in any other life, Tottie?" asked Aspel, more amused by the air of the child than by her answer. "P'r'aps. Don't much know, and don't much care," said Tottie.
No one knew, but George Aspel knew of a key that had done some service in times past. He retreated a few steps, and, rushing at the door with all his weight and momentum, dashed it in with a tremendous crash, and went headlong into the cellar, from out of which came belching flames and smoke.
While the men were quickly repairing it Aspel said in a hurried manner: "I'll clear the rocket-line," and away he darted like a greyhound. "Hold ha-a-rd! foolish fellow, you'll be drownded," roared one of the men. But Aspel heeded him not. Another minute and he was far away on the ledge of rock jutting out from a high cape the point of which formed the outlying reef above referred to.
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