e perform so
well undone thee? Ah, hadst thou but had the wit to act horribly, and be
hissed!

"Uprose the sun and uprose Baron Rugge."

Not that ordinarily he was a very early man; but his excitement broke
his slumbers. He had taken up his quarters on the ground-floor of a
small lodging-house close to his exhibition; in the same house lodged
his senior matron, and Sophy herself. Mrs. Gormerick, being ordered to
watch the child and never lose sight of her, slept in the same room with
Sophy, in the upper story of the house. The old woman served Rugge for
housekeeper, made his tea, grilled his chop, and for company's sake
shared his meals. Excitement as often sharpens the appetite as takes
it away. Rugge had supped on hope, and he felt a craving for a more
substantial breakfast. Accordingly, when he had dressed, he thrust his
head into the passage, and seeing there the maid-of-all-work unbarring
the street-door, bade her go upstairs and wake the Hag, that is,
Mrs. Gormerick. Saying this he extended a key; for he ever took the
precaution, before retiring to rest, to lock the door of the room to
which Sophy was consigned on the outside, and guard the key till the
next morning.

The maid nodded, and ascended the stairs. Less time than he expected
passed away before Mrs. Gormerick made her appearance, her gray hair
streaming under her nightcap, her form indued in a loose wrapper,--her
very face a tragedy.

"Powers above! What has happened?" exclaimed Rugge, prophetically.

"She is gone," sobbed Mrs. Gormerick; and, seeing the lifted arm and
clenched fist of the manager, prudently fainted away.

CHAPTER VIII.

Corollaries from the problems suggested in chapters VI. and VII.

Broad daylight, nearly nine o'clock indeed, and Jasper Losely is walking
back to his inn from the place at which he had dined the evening before.
He has spent the night drinking, gambling, and though he looks heated,
there is no sign of fatigue. Nature, in wasting on this man many of
her most glorious elements of happiness, had not forgotten an herculean
constitution,--always restless and never tired, always drinking and
never drunk. Certainly it is some consolation to delicate invalids
that it seldom happens that the sickly are very wicked. Criminals are
generally athletic; constitution and conscience equally tough; large
backs to their heads; strong suspensorial muscles; digestions that save
them from the over-fine nerves of the virtuo