to last night; and so good morning to
you, Mr. Rugge."

"My dear child," said the manager, softening his voice as much as he
could, "do consider. You shall be so made of without that stupid old
man. You think me cross, but 't is he who irritates and puts me out
of temper. I 'm uncommon fond of children. I had a babe of my own
once,--upon my honour, I had,--and if it had not been for convulsions,
caused by teething, I should be a father still. Supply to me the place
of that beloved babe. You shall have such fine dresses; all new,--choose
'em yourself,--minced veal and raspberry tarts for dinner every Sunday.
In three years, under my care, you will become a great actress, and make
your fortune, and marry a lord,--lords go out of their wits for great
actresses,--whereas, with him, what will you do? drudge and rot and
starve; and he can't live long, and then where will you be? 'T is a
shame to hold her so, you idle old vagabond."

"I don't hold her," said Waife, trying to push her away. "There's
something in what the man says. Choose for yourself, Sophy."

SOPHY (suppressing a sob).--"How can you have the heart to talk so,
Grandy? I tell you, Mr. Rugge, you are a bad man, and I hate you, and
all about you; and I'll stay with Grandfather; and I don't care if I do
starve: he sha'n't!"

MR. RUGGE (clapping both hands on the crown of his hat, and striding to
the door).--"William Waife, beware 't is done. I'm your enemy. As for
you, too dear but abandoned infant, stay with him: you'll find out very
soon who and what he is; your pride will have a fall, when--"

Waife sprang forward, despite his lameness,--both his fists clenched,
his one eye ablaze; his broad burly torso confronted and daunted the
stormy manager. Taller and younger though Rugge was, he cowered before
the cripple he had so long taunted and humbled. The words stood arrested
on his tongue. "Leave the room instantly!" thundered the actor, in a
voice no longer broken. "Blacken my name before that child by one word,
and I will dash the next down your throat." Rugge rushed to the door,
and keeping it ajar between Waife and himself, he then thrust in his
head, hissing forth,

"Fly, caitiff, fly! my revenge shall track your secret and place you in
my power. Juliet Araminta shall yet be mine." With these awful words the
Remorseless Baron cleared the stairs in two bounds, and was out of the
house.

Waife smiled contemptuously. But as the street-door clanged on the