ight be said of
old Helstone. Neither of these two would look, think, or speak a lie;
for neither of them had the wretched black bottle, which had just been
put away, any charms. Both might boast a valid claim to the proud title
of "lord of the creation," for no animal vice was lord of them; they
looked and were superior beings to poor Sykes.

A sort of gathering and trampling sound was heard in the yard, and then
a pause. Moore walked to the window; Helstone followed. Both stood on
one side, the tall junior behind the under-sized senior, looking forth
carefully, so that they might not be visible from without. Their sole
comment on what they saw was a cynical smile flashed into each other's
stern eyes.

A flourishing oratorical cough was now heard, followed by the
interjection "Whisht!" designed, as it seemed, to still the hum of
several voices. Moore opened his casement an inch or two to admit sound
more freely.

"Joseph Scott," began a snuffling voice--Scott was standing sentinel at
the counting-house door--"might we inquire if your master be within, and
is to be spoken to?"

"He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly.

"Would you then, if _you_ please" (emphasis on "you"), "have the
goodness to tell _him_ that twelve gentlemen wants to see him."

"He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught as weel tell him that
at t' same time."

"For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered.

"Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, 'for a
purpose.'"

"Good, Joe; I'm their man.--Sugden, come when I whistle."

Moore went out, chuckling dryly. He advanced into the yard, one hand in
his pocket, the other in his waistcoat, his cap brim over his eyes,
shading in some measure their deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve men
waited in the yard, some in their shirt-sleeves, some in blue aprons.
Two figured conspicuously in the van of the party. One, a little dapper
strutting man with a turned-up nose; the other a broad-shouldered
fellow, distinguished no less by his demure face and cat like, trustless
eyes than by a wooden leg and stout crutch. There was a kind of leer
about his lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person or
thing; his whole air was anything but that of a true man.

"Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly, for him.

"Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely closing
his naturally half-shut eyes as he delivered it.

"I'm obliged to you. Peace is an ex