e."

"Those days were very different," Mr. Bows answered; "and Mr. Arthur
Pendennis was an honest, impetuous young fellow then; rather selfish
and conceited, perhaps, but honest. He liked you then, because you were
ready to ruin yourself for a woman."

"And now, sir?" Arthur asked.

"And now times are changed, and you want a woman to ruin herself for
you," Bows answered. "I know this child, sir. I've always said this lot
was hanging over her. She has heated her little brain with novels, until
her whole thoughts are about love and lovers, and she scarcely sees that
she treads on a kitchen floor. I have taught the little thing. She is
full of many talents and winning ways, I grant you. I am fond of the
girl, sir. I'm a lonely old man; I lead a life that I don't like, among
boon companions, who make me melancholy. I have but this child that
I care for. Have pity upon me, and don't take her away from me, Mr.
Pendennis--don't take her away."

The old man's voice broke as he spoke. Its accents touched Pen, much
more than the menacing or sarcastic tone which Bows had commenced by
adopting.

"Indeed," said he, kindly, "you do me a wrong if you fancy I intend
one to poor little Fanny. I never saw her till Friday night. It was the
merest chance that our friend Costigan threw her into my way. I have no
intentions regarding her--that is----"

"That is, you know very well that she is a foolish girl, and her mother
a foolish woman,--that is, you meet her in the Temple Gardens, and
of course without previous concert,--that is, that when I found her
yesterday reading the book you've wrote, she scorned me," Bows said.
"What am I good for but to be laughed at? a deformed old fellow like
me; an old fiddler, that wears a threadbare coat, and gets his bread by
playing tunes at an ale-house? You are a fine gentleman, you are. You
wear scent in your handkerchief, and a ring on your finger. You go to
dine with great people. Who ever gives a crust to old Bows? And yet I
might have been as good a man as the best of you. I might have been
a man of genius, if I had had the chance; ay, and have lived with the
master-spirits of the land. But everything hads ailed with me. I'd
ambition once, and wrote plays, poems, music--nobody would give me a
hearing. I never loved a woman, but she laughed at me; and here I am in
my old age alone--alone! Don't take this girl from me, Mr. Pendennis, I
say again. Leave her with me a little longer. She was like