When they were gone, I went down on my knees to Milor;
told him we were going to pawn everything, and begged
and prayed him to give me two hundred pounds.
He pish’d and psha’d in a fury—told
me not to be such a fool as to pawn—and
said he would see whether he could lend me the money.
At last he went away, promising that he would send
it me in the morning: when I will bring it to
my poor old monster with a kiss from his affectionate
I am writing in bed. Oh I have such a headache
and such a heartache!
When Rawdon read over this letter, he turned so red
and looked so savage that the company at the table
d’hote easily perceived that bad news had reached
him. All his suspicions, which he had been trying
to banish, returned upon him. She could not even
go out and sell her trinkets to free him. She
could laugh and talk about compliments paid to her,
whilst he was in prison. Who had put him there?
Wenham had walked with him. Was there....
He could hardly bear to think of what he suspected.
Leaving the room hurriedly, he ran into his own—opened
his desk, wrote two hurried lines, which he directed
to Sir Pitt or Lady Crawley, and bade the messenger
carry them at once to Gaunt Street, bidding him to
take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he was back
in an hour.
In the note he besought his dear brother and sister,
for the sake of God, for the sake of his dear child
and his honour, to come to him and relieve him from
his difficulty. He was in prison, he wanted a
hundred pounds to set him free—he entreated
them to come to him.
He went back to the dining-room after dispatching
his messenger and called for more wine. He laughed
and talked with a strange boisterousness, as the people
thought. Sometimes he laughed madly at his own
fears and went on drinking for an hour, listening all
the while for the carriage which was to bring his
fate back.
At the expiration of that time, wheels were heard
whirling up to the gate—the young janitor
went out with his gate-keys. It was a lady whom
he let in at the bailiff’s door.
“Colonel Crawley,” she said, trembling
very much. He, with a knowing look, locked the
outer door upon her—then unlocked and opened
the inner one, and calling out, “Colonel, you’re
wanted,” led her into the back parlour, which
he occupied.
Rawdon came in from the dining-parlour where all those
people were carousing, into his back room; a flare
of coarse light following him into the apartment where
the lady stood, still very nervous.
“It is I, Rawdon,” she said in a timid
voice, which she strove to render cheerful.
“It is Jane.” Rawdon was quite overcome
by that kind voice and presence. He ran up to
her—caught her in his arms—
gasped out some inarticulate words of thanks and fairly
sobbed on her shoulder. She did not know the
cause of his emotion.
