on his saddle, did Philip Morton, in this great,
intelligent, gifted, civilised, enlightened community of Great Britain,
find the means of earning his bread without stealing it.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Don Salluste (souriunt). Je paire
Que vous ne pensiez pas a moi?"--Ruy Blas.

"Don Salluste. Cousin!
Don Cesar. De vos bienfaits je n'aurai nulle envie,
Tant que je trouverai vivant ma libre vie."--Ibid.

Don Sallust (smiling). I'll lay a wager you won't think of me?
Don Sallust. Cousin!
Don Caesar. I covet not your favours, so but I lead an independent
life.

Phillip's situation was agreeable to his habits. His great courage and
skill in horsemanship were not the only qualifications useful to Mr.
Stubmore: his education answered a useful purpose in accounts, and
his manners and appearance were highly to the credit of the yard. The
customers and loungers soon grew to like Gentleman Philips, as he was
styled in the establishment. Mr. Stubmore conceived a real affection for
him. So passed several weeks; and Philip, in this humble capacity, might
have worked out his destinies in peace and comfort, but for a new
cause of vexation that arose in Sidney. This boy was all in all to his
brother. For him he had resisted the hearty and joyous invitations
of Gawtrey (whose gay manner and high spirits had, it must be owned,
captivated his fancy, despite the equivocal mystery of the man's
avocations and condition); for him he now worked and toiled, cheerful
and contented; and him he sought to save from all to which he subjected
himself. He could not bear that that soft and delicate child should ever
be exposed to the low and menial associations that now made up his
own life--to the obscene slang of grooms and ostlers--to their coarse
manners and rough contact. He kept him, therefore, apart and aloof in
their little lodging, and hoped in time to lay by, so that Sidney might
ultimately be restored, if not to his bright original sphere, at least
to a higher grade than that to which Philip was himself condemned. But
poor Sidney could not bear to be thus left alone--to lose sight of his
brother from daybreak till bed-time--to have no one to amuse him;
he fretted and pined away: all the little inconsiderate selfishness,
uneradicated from his breast by his sufferings, broke out the more, the
more he felt that he was the first object on earth to Philip. Philip,
thinking he might be more cheerful at a