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Cranley had even given up to her his own rooms in Victoria Square, and had lodged elsewhere; his exact address Margaret did not know. The only really delicate point Cranley's assumption of the name of "Mr. Lithgow" he frankly confessed to her as soon as they were well out of the Dovecot.
Cranley's enemies are of his own making. I would not go to him for a girl's character, I'm sure. But I thought he had disappeared from society." "So he had. He told me that there was a conspiracy against him, and that I was one of the few people who, he felt sure, would never desert him. And I never would. I never turn my back on my friends."
They, moreover, had paid but a divided attention to Maitland's inquiries. The success of Cranley's device was secured by its elementary simplicity. A gentleman who, for any reason, wishes to obliterate his trail, does wisely to wear some very notable, conspicuous, unmistakable garb at one point of his progress.
"Miss Cranley's!" exclaims one of our readers, in a tone of admiration. "Miss Cranley's!" cries another, "and pray who is she?" I distribute my readers into two classes, the indolent and the supercilious, and shall accordingly address them upon the present occasion. To the supercilious I have a very different story to tell. Most learned sirs, I kiss your hands.
His paper currency was coming back to him. "It's a shame," grumbled Cranley, "to rob a fellow of his fetich. Waiter, a small brandy-and-soda! Confound your awkwardness! Why do you spill it over the cards?" By Cranley's own awkwardness, more than the waiter's, a little splash of the liquid had fallen in front of him, on the black leather part of the table where he dealt.
"Have you any idea about what you mean to do?" "Mrs. St. John Deloraine is very kind. She wishes me to stay with her always. But I am puzzled about Mr. Cranley. I don't know what he would like me to do. He seems to have gone abroad." Barton hated to hear her mention Cranley's name. "Had you known him long?" he asked. "No; for a very short time only.
"I was afraid," said Miss Prim, "it would have discomposed Miss Cranley's petticoats." "Law, my dear!" said Miss Gawky, "by my so, I like the music of a cracker, better than all the concerts in the varsal world." We need not inform our readers, that Miss Languish, in the very height and altitude of the confusion, had been obliged to retire.
He sometimes thought, that Delia might yet be induced to adopt the plan he had proposed; and sometimes he gave way to the serene confidence she expressed, and indulged the pleasing expectation, that virtue would not always remain without its reward. A Woman of Learning. We are now brought, in the course of our story, to the memorable scene at Miss Cranley's.
This version added the touch that Cranley's last request was for a bumper of the famous old brandy he had lost his life for, and when it was given him he quaffed it to the bottom, dashed the cup in the hangman's face, and swung himself off into eternity.
"By George, she's gone!" cried the policeman. Barton pushed past him, and laid his hand on the woman's heart. She stirred once, was violently shaken with the agony of death, and so passed away, carrying into silence her secret and her story. Mr. Cranley's hopes had been, at least partially, fulfilled. "Drink, I suppose, as usual. St. John Deloraine.
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