his mind more at ease than before. It was, indeed, no small
boon that the terror of Grog's presence was removed. The man who had
seen him in all his transgressions and his shortcomings was, in reality,
little else than an open volume of conscience, ever wide spread before
him. How could he presume in such a presence to assert one single high
or honorable motive? What honest sentiment dare be enunciate? He felt in
his heart that the Viscount Lackington with ten thousand a year was not
the Honorable Annesley Beecher with three hundred. The noble Lord
could smile at the baits that to the younger son were irresistible
temptations. There was no necessity that _he_ should plot, scheme, and
contrive; or if he did, it should be for a higher prize, or in a higher
sphere and with higher antagonists. And yet Grog would not have it so.
Let him do what he would, there was the inexorable Davis ever ready
to bring down Lackington to the meridian of Beecher! Amidst all
the misfortunes of his life, the ever having known this man was the
worst,--the very worst!

And now he began to go over in his mind some of the most eventful
incidents of this companionship. It was a gloomy catalogue of debauch
and ruin. Young fellows entrapped at the very outset in life, led on to
play, swindled, "hocussed," menaced with exposure, threatened with who
knows what perils of public scandal if they refused to sign this or
that "promise to pay." Then all the intrigues to obtain the money; the
stealthy pursuit of the creditor to the day of his advancement or his
marriage; the menaces measured out to the exigencies of the case,--now
a prosecution, now a pistol. What a dreadful labyrinth of wickedness
was it, and how had he threaded through it undetected! He heaved a heavy
sigh as he muttered a sort of thanksgiving that it was all ended at
last,--all over! "If it were not for Grog, these memories need never
come back to me," said he. "Nobody wants to recall them against me,
and the world will be most happy to dine with the Viscount Lackington
without a thought of the transgressions of Annesley Beecher! If it were
not for Grog,--if it were not for Grog!" and so ran the eternal refrain
at the close of each reflection. "At all events," said he, "I 'll
'put the Alps between us;'" and early on the following morning the
travelling-carriage stood ready at the door, and amidst the bowings
and reverences of the hotel functionaries, the "happy pair" set out for
Italy.