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Updated: May 27, 2025
And the coiner crept to the door of the private stairs. He unlocked and opened it cautiously. A man sprang through the aperture: "Yield! you are my prisoner!" "Never!" cried Gawtrey, hurling back the intruder, and clapping to the door, though other and stout men were pressing against it with all their power. "Ho! ho! Who shall open the tiger's cage?"
Who would judge well of God's great designs, if he could look on no drop pendent from the rose-tree, or sparkling in the sun, without the help of his solar microscope? It is ten years after the night on which William Gawtrey perished: I transport you, reader, to the fairest scenes in England, scenes consecrated by the only true pastoral poetry we have known to Contemplation and Repose.
This politeness paved the way to a conversation in which Gawtrey made himself so agreeable, and talked with such zest of the Modern Athens, and the tricks practised upon travellers, that he was presented to Mrs. Macgregor; cards were interchanged, and, as Mr. Gawtrey lived in tolerable style, the Macgregors pronounced him "a vara genteel mon."
"She calls me papa!" said Gawtrey, kissing her; "you hear it? Bless her!" "And you never kiss any one but Fanny you have no other little girl?" said the child, earnestly, and with a look less vacant than that which had saddened Morton. "No other no nothing under heaven, and perhaps above it, but you!" and he clasped her in his arms.
"If you mean the celebrated coiner, Jacques Giraumont, he waits without. You know our rules. I cannot admit him without leave." "Bon! we give it, eh, messieurs?" said Gawtrey. "Ay-ay," cried several voices. "He knows the oath, and will hear the penalty." "Yes, he knows the oath," replied Birnie, and glided back. In a moment more he returned with a small man in a mechanic's blouse.
When did you arrive?" "To-day." And thus, Philip Morton and Mr. William Gawtrey met once more. "Happy the man who, void of care and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A splendid shilling !" The Splendid Shilling. "And wherefore should they take or care for thought, The unreasoning vulgar willingly obey, And leaving toil and poverty behind.
As the peer thus spoke, Vaudemont, leaning against the door, contemplated him with a strange mixture of interest and disgust. "And John Lilburne is thought a great man, and William Gawtrey was a great rogue. You don't conceal your heart? no, I understand. Wealth and power have no need of hypocrisy: you are the man of vice Gawtrey, the man of crime.
He missed the loud, deep voice of Gawtrey the smoke of the dead man's meerschaum the gloomy garret the distained walls the stealthy whisper of the loathed Birnie; slowly the life led and the life gone within the last twelve hours grew upon his struggling memory. He groaned, and turned uneasily round, when the door slightly opened, and he sprung up fiercely, "Who is there?"
Gawtrey began again: "You have had a bad accident, seemingly, Monsieur Giraumont. How did you lose your eye?" "In a scuffle with the gens d' armes the night Bouchard was taken and I escaped. Such misfortunes are on the cards." "C'est juste: buvez, donc, Monsieur Giraumont!" Again there was a pause, and again Gawtrey's deep voice was heard. "You wear a wig, I think, Monsieur Giraumont?
When he woke, he saw the grey light of dawn that streamed cheerlessly through his shutterless window, struggling with the faint ray of a candle that Gawtrey, shading with his hand, held over the sleeper. He started up, and, in the confusion of waking and the imperfect light by which he beheld the strong features of Gawtrey, half imagined it was a foe who stood before him.
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