xcuse me, sir, I ain't got any call to set up a
public-house, sir," he replied stoutly. "And I tell you wot, sir, it
seems to me I'm reether young for the billet. I'm your body-servant, Mr.
Anne, or else I'm nothink."

"Well, Rowley," I said, "I'll tell you what it's for. It's for the good
service you have done me, of which I don't care--and don't dare--to
speak. It's for your loyalty and cheerfulness, my dear boy. I had meant
it for you; but to tell you the truth, it's past mending now--it has to
be yours. Since that man is waiting by the bank, the money can't be
touched until I'm gone."

"Until you're gone, sir?" re-echoed Rowley. "You don't go anywheres
without me, I can tell you that, Mr. Anne, sir!"

"Yes, my boy," said I, "we are going to part very soon now; probably
to-morrow. And it's for my sake, Rowley! Depend upon it, if there was
any reason at all for that Bow Street man being at the bank, he was not
there to look out for _you_. How they could have found out about the
account so early is more than I can fathom; some strange coincidence
must have played me false! But there the fact is; and, Rowley, I'll not
only have to say farewell to you presently, I'll have to ask you to stay
indoors until I can say it. Remember, my boy, it's only so that you can
serve me now."

"W'y, sir, you say the word, and of course I'll do it!" he cried.
"'Nothink by 'alves,' is my motto! I'm your man, through thick and thin,
live or die, I am!"

In the meantime there was nothing to be done till towards sunset. My
only chance now was to come again as quickly as possible to speech of
Flora, who was my only practicable banker; and not before evening was it
worth while to think of that. I might compose myself as well as I was
able over the _Caledonian Mercury_, with its ill news of the campaign of
France and belated documents about the retreat from Russia; and, as I
sat there by the fire, I was sometimes all awake with anger and
mortification at what I was reading, and sometimes again I would be
three parts asleep as I dozed over the barren items of home
intelligence. "Lately arrived"--this is what I suddenly stumbled on--"at
Dumbreck's Hotel, the Viscount of Saint-Yves."

"Rowley," said I.

"If you please, Mr. Anne, sir," answered the obsequious, lowering his
pipe.

"Come and look at this, my boy," said I, holding out the paper.

"My crikey!" said he. "That's 'im, sir, sure enough!"

"Sure enough, Rowley," said I. "He's on