and
many other sinners had a jolly night. They said Kew made a fine speech,
in hearing and acknowledging which Jack Belsize wept copiously. Barnes
Newcome was in a rage at Jack's manumission, and sincerely hoped Mr.
Commissioner would give him a couple of years longer; and cursed and
swore with a great liberality on hearing of his liberty.

That this poor prodigal should marry Clara Pulleyn, and by way of a
dowry lay his schedule at her feet, was out of the question. His noble
father, Lord Highgate, was furious against him; his eldest brother would
not see him; he had given up all hopes of winning his darling prize long
ago, and one day there came to him a great packet bearing the seal of
Chanticlere, containing a wretched little letter signed C. P., and a
dozen sheets of Jack's own clumsy writing, delivered who knows how,
in what crush-rooms, quadrilles, bouquets, balls, and in which were
scrawled Jack's love and passion and ardour. How many a time had he
looked into the dictionary at White's, to see whether eternal was spelt
with an e, and adore with one a or two! There they were, the incoherent
utterances of his brave longing heart; and those two wretched, wretched
lines signed C., begging that C.'s little letters might too be returned
or destroyed. To do him justice, he burnt them loyally every one along
with his own waste paper. He kept not one single little token which
she had given him or let him take. The rose, the glove, the little
handkerchief which she had dropped to him, how he cried over them! The
ringlet of golden hair--he burnt them all, all in his own fire in the
prison, save a little, little bit of the hair, which might be any one's,
which was the colour of his sister's. Kew saw the deed done; perhaps he
hurried away when Jack came to the very last part of the sacrifice, and
flung the hair into the fire, where he would have liked to fling his
heart and his life too.

So Clara was free, and the year when Jack came out of prison and went
abroad, she passed the season in London dancing about night after night,
and everybody said she was well out of that silly affair with Jack
Belsize. It was then that Barnes Newcome, Esq., a partner of the wealthy
banking firm of Hobson Brothers and Newcome, son and heir of Sir Brian
Newcome, of Newcome, Bart., and M. P., descended in right line from
Bryan de Newcomyn, slain at Hastings, and barber-surgeon to Edward the
Confessor, etc. etc., cast the eyes of regard on the