He knew at once that he had now no more chance of getting the fortune, for which he had risked so much, than the veriest beggar whom he might pick out of the street. He would have to leave England at once, or his next step would be into a gaol, on account of his debts: the harpies would be upon him the moment his failure was known. What on earth to do with himself, or with the girl he called his wife, whom he had tackled himself to, he did not know. The first thing, however, was to get away, and that as soon as possible. "I suppose the suit will have to be dropped now, for I have no object in carrying it on. Good morning, gentlemen," he said, to the lawyers; "I suppose you don't want me any longer." And he walked out of the office as calmly as if he had achieved a victory, although all his hopes and plans were utterly wrecked. "He's a plucky fellow, and deserved to win," said Mr Trump to his partner, when Markworth had disappeared, and his steps were heard going down the staircase. "That he is; that he did," responded parrot Sequence, and both dismissed him from their minds, and set about filing the necessary papers which would soon put an end to the longed talked of suit of "Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne." Volume 2, Chapter XIV. THE DOCTOR GOES ABROAD. "Ait-choo!" sneezed the doctor one morning towards the end of October, when the weather was getting damp and misty, as he entered his comfortable breakfast parlour, where Deborah was sitting as usual before the fire darning her interminable stockings. I believe if you walked into that room at any hour of the day or night, you would always find her at the same task, darning stockings, and she always seemed to have the same stocking, a half grey and white one with plenty of holes about the heel, in her hand. "Ait-choo!" sneezed the doctor again. "Bless my soul, Deb," he exclaimed, "I believe I have taken a cold. Confound it! Just what I might expect from toddling up to The Poplars last night on such a wild goose chase." "Well, you know, Richard, you would go out, and you threw off that comforter I took the trouble to wrap round your neck." "A lot of molly coddling! But you're a good soul, Deb. What an old catamaran that old woman is to be sure." "Do you mean Mrs Hartshorne, Richard?" "Bless my soul, Deb! Of course; who else should I mean? She's a regular old devil incarnate, and her temper, never very good, has got quite awful now. I wanted her to go according to Trump's advice; he's a sensible man, and told her to compromise that case. It will never stand in law, so Trump says; and it's better to give that rascal Markworth half the money now than expose the whole family, and have to give up the whole lot by and bye. Half a loaf is better than no bread, I say, and I would rather have it so for that poor girl's sake." "And she won't do it, Richard?"