istant had hinted, and cheated him from malice prepense,
since the warrant of committal described him as the son of Sir Geoffrey
Peveril. It was therefore in vain, as well as degrading, to make farther
application to such a man on the subject. Julian determined to submit to
his fate, as what could not be averted by any effort of his own.

Even the turnkey was moved in some degree by his youth, good mien,
and the patience with which, after the first effervescence of
disappointment, the new prisoner resigned himself to his situation. "You
seem a brave young gentleman," he said; "and shall at least have a good
dinner, and as good a pallet to sleep on, as is within the walls of
Newgate.----And, Master Sir Geoffrey, you ought to make much of him,
since you do not like tall fellows; for I can tell you that Master
Peveril is in for pinking long Jack Jenkins, that was the Master of
Defence--as tall a man as in London, always excepting the King's Porter,
Master Evans, that carried you about in his pocket, Sir Geoffrey, as all
the world heard tell."

"Begone, fellow!" answered the dwarf. "Fellow, I scorn you!"

The turnkey sneered, withdrew, and locked the door behind him.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Degenerate youth, and not of Tydeus' kind,
Whose little body lodged a mighty mind.
--ILIAD.

Left quiet at least, if not alone, for the first time after the events
of this troubled and varied day, Julian threw himself on an old oaken
seat, beside the embers of a sea-coal fire, and began to muse on the
miserable situation of anxiety and danger in which he was placed;
where, whether he contemplated the interests of his love, his family
affections, or his friendships, all seemed such a prospect as that of a
sailor who looks upon breakers on every hand, from the deck of a vessel
which no longer obeys the helm.

As Peveril sat sunk in despondency, his companion in misfortune drew a
chair to the opposite side of the chimney-corner, and began to gaze at
him with a sort of solemn earnestness, which at length compelled him,
though almost in spite of himself, to pay some attention to the singular
figure who seemed so much engrossed with contemplating him.

Geoffrey Hudson (we drop occasionally the title of knighthood, which
the King had bestowed on him in a frolic, but which might introduce
some confusion into our history), although a dwarf of the least possible