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I found Mr. Crowder unchanged in appearance and manner, and his wife was the same charming young woman I had known. But there was nothing surprising in this. People generally do not change very much in four months; and yet, in talking to Mr. Crowder, I could not prevent myself from earnestly scanning his features to see if he had grown any older. He noticed this, and laughed heartily.
"This girl, whose name was Rina, had an earnest desire for knowledge, and showed a great capacity for imbibing it and retaining it. In fact, I believe she was the most intelligent person in that region." "Was she pretty?" asked Mrs. Crowder. "Yes," replied her husband; "she was very good-looking.
But now that the good angels had caused her to meet with such a kind-hearted old gentleman as myself, she hoped that I might be able to rid her of the young man without making any trouble. Surely this student, who seemed to be a respectable person, would not think of such a thing as fighting me." "Thee must have had a very long white beard at that time," interpolated Mrs. Crowder.
"Mark me," whispered Old Zeb Minards, crowder and leader of the musicians, sitting back at the end of the Psalms, and eyeing his fiddle dubiously; "If Sternhold be sober this morning, Hopkins be drunk as a fly, or 'tis t'other way round." "'Twas middlin' wambly," assented Calvin Oke, the second fiddle a screw-faced man tightly wound about the throat with a yellow kerchief.
It was not long, however, before almost all of the passengers were safely embarked, and I was preparing to get into a boat which was nearly filled with the officers and crew, when I was touched on the shoulder, and turning, I saw a gentleman whose acquaintance I had made soon after the steamer had left Havre. His name was Crowder.
I never trust him with any affairs of state. But I have never asked you anything to which you did not give me a satisfactory answer. Now, my dear," said Mr. Crowder, "you see the reward of vanity. If I had pretended to be a fool instead of aspiring to be a philosopher and an historian, I should never have attracted the interest of the queen." "And did thee marry her?" asked his wife.
It was when he was in a hansom driving to his hotel that Heron, putting his hand in his waistcoat pocket, drew out a crumpled card which he had thrust in there hastily and forgotten. The card bore the name of "MR. CROWDER E. MONEY, Victoria street, Westminster." Heron remembered his friend of Paris. "An odd name," he thought. "I have heard it before somewhere. I like him.
Before him was Missis Crowder and her two children, that stayed four months; and back of them was old Mr. Doyle, whose sons paid for him. He kept the room six months. That goes back a year, sir, and further I do not remember." He thanked her and crept back to his room. The room was dead. The essence that had vivified it was gone. The perfume of mignonette had departed.
Now, there is no doubt that I did most thoroughly believe in Crowder. I had argued with myself against this belief to the utmost extent of my ability, and I had now given up the effort. If I should disbelieve him I would deprive myself of one of the most precious privileges of my existence, and I did not intend to do so until I found myself absolutely forced to admit that I was mistaken.
I became alarmed, and the conviction forced itself upon me that the sooner I should escape from Madrid, the better for me." "What!" exclaimed Mrs. Crowder, "and leave thy jewels behind? Thee certainly did not do that!" "Ah, my dear," replied her husband, "you do not comprehend the situation.
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