r's wife, "you may
leave it, though I cannot promise you much chance of its being accepted.
My husband has already had several offered to him; however, you may leave
it; give it me. Are you afraid to entrust it to me?" she demanded
somewhat hastily, observing that I hesitated. "Excuse me," said I, "but
it is all I have to depend upon in the world; I am chiefly apprehensive
that it will not be read." "On that point I can reassure you," said the
good lady, smiling, and there was now something sweet in her smile. "I
give you my word that it shall be read; come again to-morrow morning at
eleven, when, if not approved, it shall be returned to you."

I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed,
notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. I felt tolerably tranquil; I
had now cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide by the result.
Whatever that result might be, I could have nothing to reproach myself
with; I had strained all the energies which nature had given me in order
to rescue myself from the difficulties which surrounded me. I presently
sank into a sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and the
whole of the succeeding night. I awoke about nine on the morrow, and
spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more luxurious than the
immediately preceding ones, for one penny of the sum was expended on the
purchase of milk.

At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the bookseller; the
bookseller was in his shop. "Ah," said he, as soon as I entered, "I am
glad to see you." There was an unwonted heartiness in the bookseller's
tones, an unwonted benignity in his face. "So," said he, after a pause,
"you have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing like
taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age. Well, I think
your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose judgment I have a great
regard; as well I may, as she is the daughter of a first-rate novelist,
deceased. I think I shall venture on sending your book to the press."
"But," said I, "we have not yet agreed upon terms." "Terms, terms," said
the bookseller; "ahem! well, there is nothing like coming to terms at
once. I will print the book, and give you half the profit when the
edition is sold." "That will not do," said I; "I intend shortly to leave
London: I must have something at once." "Ah, I see," said the
bookseller, "in distress; frequently the case with authors, especially
young ones.