as a thief when I rescued you
from your foe, the law?--are you not, though a boy in years, under
an alias, and an exile from your own land? And how can you put these
austere questions to me, who am growing grey in the endeavour to extract
sunbeams from cucumbers--subsistence from poverty? I repeat that there
are reasons why I must avoid, for the present, the great capitals. I
must sink in life, and take to the provinces. Birnie is sanguine as
ever; but he is a terrible sort of comforter! Enough of that. Now to
yourself: our savings are less than you might expect; to be sure, Birnie
has been treasurer, and I have laid by a little for Fanny, which I will
rather starve than touch. There remain, however, 150 napoleons, and our
effects, sold at a fourth their value, will fetch 150 more. Here is your
share. I have compassion on you. I told you I would bear you harmless
and innocent. Leave us while yet time."

It seemed, then, to Morton that Gawtrey had divined his thoughts of
shame and escape of the previous night; perhaps Gawtrey had: and such is
the human heart, that, instead of welcoming the very release he had half
contemplated, now that it was offered him, Philip shrank from it as a
base desertion.

"Poor Gawtrey!" said he, pushing back the canvas bag of gold held out to
him, "you shall not go over the world, and feel that the orphan you fed
and fostered left you to starve with your money in his pocket. When you
again assure me that you have committed no crime, you again remind me
that gratitude has no right to be severe upon the shifts and errors of
its benefactor. If you do not conform to society, what has society done
for me? No! I will not forsake you in a reverse. Fortune has given you a
fall. What, then, courage, and at her again!"

These last words were said so heartily and cheerfully as Morton sprang
from the bed, that they inspirited Gawtrey, who had really desponded of
his lot.

"Well," said he, "I cannot reject the only friend left me; and while
I live--. But I will make no professions. Quick, then, our luggage is
already gone, and I hear Birnie grunting the rogue's march of retreat."

Morton's toilet was soon completed, and the three associates bade adieu
to the bureau.

Birnie, who was taciturn and impenetrable as ever, walked a little
before as guide. They arrived, at length, at a serrurier's shop, placed
in an alley near the Porte St. Denis. The serrurier himself, a tall,
begrimed, blackbearded man