dsome for me when I went back to
town,--nay, three or four times had me to dinner at three, and to whist
or cribbage afterwards. I did not care for the cards; for though we
always played seven hours on a stretch, and I always lost, my losings
were never more than nineteenpence a night: but there was some infernal
sour black-currant wine, that the old lady always produced at dinner, and
with the tray at ten o'clock, and which I dared not refuse; though upon
my word and honour it made me very unwell.

Well, I thought after all this obsequiousness on my part, and my aunt's
repeated promises, that the old lady would at least make me a present of
a score of guineas (of which she had a power in the drawer); and so
convinced was I that some such present was intended for me, that a young
lady by the name of Miss Mary Smith, with whom I had conversed on the
subject, actually netted me a little green silk purse, which she gave me
(behind Hicks's hayrick, as you turn to the right up Churchyard
Lane)--which she gave me, I say, wrapped up in a bit of silver paper.
There was something in the purse, too, if the truth must be known. First
there was a thick curl of the glossiest blackest hair you ever saw in
your life, and next there was threepence: that is to say, the half of a
silver sixpence hanging by a little necklace of blue riband. Ah, but I
knew where the other half of the sixpence was, and envied that happy bit
of silver!

The last day of my holiday I was obliged, of course, to devote to Mrs.
Hoggarty. My aunt was excessively gracious; and by way of a treat
brought out a couple of bottles of the black currant, of which she made
me drink the greater part. At night when all the ladies assembled at her
party had gone off with their pattens and their maids, Mrs. Hoggarty, who
had made a signal to me to stay, first blew out three of the wax candles
in the drawing-room, and taking the fourth in her hand, went and unlocked
her escritoire.

I can tell you my heart beat, though I pretended to look quite
unconcerned.

"Sam my dear," said she, as she was fumbling with her keys, "take another
glass of Rosolio" (that was the name by which she baptised the cursed
beverage): "it will do you good." I took it, and you might have seen my
hand tremble as the bottle went click--click against the glass. By the
time I had swallowed it, the old lady had finished her operations at the
bureau, and was coming towards me, the wax-candle bobbin