So will you, through whatever channel you think best, let poor Mrs.Sturk know that she may draw upon me for a hundred pounds, if she requires it ?' 'Thank you, Mr.Dangerfield; I certainly shall.' And so Dangerfield lifted his hat to the party and fell behind, and came to a stand still, watching them till they disappeared over the brow of the hill.
When he reached his little parlour in the Brass Castle, luncheon was upon the table.

But he had not much of an appetite, and stood at the window, looking upon the river with his hands in his pockets, and a strange pallid smile over his face, mingling with the light of the silver spectacles.
'When Irons hears of this,' he said, 'he'll come to my estimate of Charles Archer, and conclude he has had a finger in that pretty pie; 'twill frighten him.' And somehow Dangerfield looked a little bit queer himself, and he drank off two small glasses, such as folks then used in Ireland--of Nantz; and setting down the glass, he mused-- 'A queer battle life is; ha, ha! Sturk laid low--the wretched fool! Widow--yes; children--ay.

Charles! Charles! if there be a reckoning after death, your score's an ugly one.

I'm tired of playing my part in this weary game of defence.

Irons and I remain with the secret between us.