ne!'

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

HAS AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR PECKSNIFF IS
EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER; AND WIELDS THE SAME WITH FORTITUDE
AND MAGNANIMITY

On the night of the storm, Mrs Lupin, hostess of the Blue Dragon, sat by
herself in her little bar. Her solitary condition, or the bad weather,
or both united, made Mrs Lupin thoughtful, not to say sorrowful. As she
sat with her chin upon her hand, looking out through a low back lattice,
rendered dim in the brightest day-time by clustering vine-leaves, she
shook her head very often, and said, 'Dear me! Oh, dear, dear me!'

It was a melancholy time, even in the snugness of the Dragon bar.
The rich expanse of corn-field, pasture-land, green slope, and gentle
undulation, with its sparkling brooks, its many hedgerows, and its
clumps of beautiful trees, was black and dreary, from the diamond panes
of the lattice away to the far horizon, where the thunder seemed to roll
along the hills. The heavy rain beat down the tender branches of vine
and jessamine, and trampled on them in its fury; and when the lightning
gleamed it showed the tearful leaves shivering and cowering together at
the window, and tapping at it urgently, as if beseeching to be sheltered
from the dismal night.

As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs Lupin had removed her
candle to the chimney-piece. Her basket of needle-work stood unheeded
at her elbow; her supper, spread on a round table not far off, was
untasted; and the knives had been removed for fear of attraction. She
had sat for a long time with her chin upon her hand, saying to herself
at intervals, 'Dear me! Ah, dear, dear me!'

She was on the eve of saying so, once more, when the latch of the
house-door (closed to keep the rain out), rattled on its well-worn
catch, and a traveller came in, who, shutting it after him, and walking
straight up to the half-door of the bar, said, rather gruffly:

'A pint of the best old beer here.'

He had some reason to be gruff, for if he had passed the day in a
waterfall, he could scarcely have been wetter than he was. He was
wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat, and had an
oil-skin hat on, from the capacious brim of which the rain fell
trickling down upon his breast, and back, and shoulders. Judging from a
certain liveliness of chin--he had so pulled down his hat, and pulled up
his collar, to defend himself from the weather, that she could only
see