back. This, however, he found so inconvenient I rarely had enough
to help him out of scrapes when his own funds were wasted. Admonitions
to him were like the falling rain on the back of the duck. He early
acquired a passion for gambling. His father knew it, but hoped that
time would work his cure. He, himself, I learned, had been somewhat of
a profligate.

"I loved the boy and life with him would have been a pleasure but for
the anxious moments when it seemed he would go headlong to perdition
despite my utmost efforts. Once, I thought, he seemed inclined to mend
his ways, when, after the manner of youth, he met a young lady in
whose eyes he thought his happiness to lie. For a time his passion for
cards was forgotten, and neither White's nor the Coffee House saw him
for months. But she went abroad and he became restless. Then came news
of her marriage and he returned to his first love, the gaming table.
Do what I might I could not restrain him. He was perfectly reckless.
Soon he was in debt and his father, when it was too late, sought to
check him and cut down his allowance. From associates at White's he
descended to the lower resorts. There was one fellow that I specially
feared, and with whom he had become a boon companion, a Captain
Villecourt, a gambler and a rake, whose reputation was unsavoury. I
pleaded, but in vain. I could not desert the boy. He loved me, and I
him, and so I dogged his footsteps, helped him out of difficulty
whenever I could, and lost no opportunity for pleading his cause with
his father.

"One night, I shall never forget it, word came that his father was
ill. The laddie was out and I thought he had gone to meet Villecourt,
who lived in a low tavern and frequently did not dare venture abroad
for fear of meeting his creditors and being lodged where he belonged,
in a debtor's gaol.

"It was a villainous place. A dismal rain was falling, the street was
poorly lighted, and, but for the mean attire I put on, I might easily
have become the victim of footpads.

"I was not a welcome caller at the tavern, was told with an oath that
neither Villecourt nor Ralston was in the house. There seemed nothing
to do, and I turned down the ill-smelling passage leading to the side
entrance, when, from a room on the right, I heard Dick's strong young
voice cry out, 'You are a knave, sir!'

"I tried to open the door; it was bolted. I threw myself against it
and the rotten casing yielded, the door burst open. The