That gallant officer at once knew what had befallen
him. He was in the hands of the bailiffs.
He started back, falling against the man who had
first touched him.
“We’re three on us—it’s
no use bolting,” the man behind said.
“It’s you, Moss, is it?” said the
Colonel, who appeared to know his interlocutor.
“How much is it?”
“Only a small thing,” whispered Mr. Moss,
of Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and assistant officer
to the Sheriff of Middlesex— “One
hundred and sixty-six, six and eight-pence, at the
suit of Mr. Nathan.”
“Lend me a hundred, Wenham, for God’s
sake,” poor Rawdon said—“I’ve
got seventy at home.”
“I’ve not got ten pounds in the world,”
said poor Mr. Wenham—“Good night,
my dear fellow.”
“Good night,” said Rawdon ruefully.
And Wenham walked away—and Rawdon Crawley
finished his cigar as the cab drove under Temple Bar.
In Which Lord Steyne Shows Himself in a Most Amiable
Light
When Lord Steyne was benevolently disposed, he did
nothing by halves, and his kindness towards the Crawley
family did the greatest honour to his benevolent discrimination.
His lordship extended his good-will to little Rawdon:
he pointed out to the boy’s parents the necessity
of sending him to a public school, that he was of an
age now when emulation, the first principles of the
Latin language, pugilistic exercises, and the society
of his fellow-boys would be of the greatest benefit
to the boy. His father objected that he was
not rich enough to send the child to a good public
school; his mother that Briggs was a capital mistress
for him, and had brought him on (as indeed was the
fact) famously in English, the Latin rudiments, and
in general learning: but all these objections
disappeared before the generous perseverance of the
Marquis of Steyne. His lordship was one of the
governors of that famous old collegiate institution
called the Whitefriars. It had been a Cistercian
Convent in old days, when the Smithfield, which is
contiguous to it, was a tournament ground. Obstinate
heretics used to be brought thither convenient for
burning hard by. Henry VIII, the Defender of
the Faith, seized upon the monastery and its possessions
and hanged and tortured some of the monks who could
not accommodate themselves to the pace of his reform.
Finally, a great merchant bought the house and land
adjoining, in which, and with the help of other wealthy
endowments of land and money, he established a famous
foundation hospital for old men and children.
An extern school grew round the old almost monastic
foundation, which subsists still with its middle-age
costume and usages—and all Cistercians
pray that it may long flourish.
