our, I found my belt of vengeance so cold and so
inconvenient, that I heartily wished I was well rid of it: it is a
miserable confession, a sad falling off in my heroics; but the oath that
I had voluntarily and so solemnly taken prevented me from ridding myself
of the disgusting incumbrance.

According to the account of my companion, all was smiles, and happiness,
and sunshine, around Mrs Cherfeuil; when a person made his appearance,
by the description of whom I at once recognised that fiend, Daunton.
Domestic happiness then ceased for the poor lady; rumours of the worst
nature got abroad; her little French husband, instead of being as for
twelve years before he had been, her shadow, her slave, and her admirer,
became outrageous and cruel, and after the horrid word bigamy had been
launched against her, she never after held up her head.

She sickened and died. Nor did Daunton succeed in his plans of
extorting money--but his scheme was infinitely more deep and more
hellish. He had, _but not till after her death_, declared himself to be
her son. This, instead of having any effect upon the outraged widower,
only made him more eager to drive the impostor from his presence; and,
the opportunity offering itself to leave the spot now so hateful to him,
and the country that had sheltered him and in which he had grown so
rich, he availed himself of it eagerly. This account did not aggravate
my implacable feelings against this Daunton, for my hate was beyond the
capability of increase.

After hearing all that the little wench had to discover, and rewarding
her, I proceeded alone to wander over the spots that were once so dear
to me. In this melancholy occupation, when the cold mists of the early
evening fell, I continued heaping regret upon regret, until a more
miserable being, short of being impelled to suicide, could not have trod
the earth. About five, it began to grow dark; and, weary both in mind
and body, I commenced climbing the long hill that was the boundary of
the common, on my return to London.

On the Surrey side of the hill, for its apex separated it from another
county, the descent was more precipitous--so much so, that it is now
wholly disused as a road for carriages; and not only was it precipitous,
but excessively contorted, the bends sometimes running at right angles
with each other. High banks, clothed with impervious hedges, and
shadowed by tall trees, made the road both dank and dark; and, at the
ti