‘Come, that is cheering. I suppose you managed to screw a guinea out of one of your friends for me?’ ‘On the contrary, I sold it on its merits,’ Felix replied, ‘and ten pounds was the price.’ ‘Ten pounds! Am I dreaming, or am I a genius?’ ‘Neither; which is true, if not complimentary. There is the cheque to prove you are not dreaming; and as to the other thing, you have no genius, but you have considerable talent.—But I have some further news for you. I have had a note from the editor of _Mayfair_, to whom I showed your work. Now, Baker of the _Mayfair_ is about the finest judge of literary capacity I know. He says he was particularly struck with your descriptive writing; and if you like to undertake the work, he wants you to visit the principal of the foreign gambling clubs in London, and work up a series of gossiping articles for his paper. The work will not be particularly pleasant; but you will have the _entrée_ of all these clubs, and the golden key to get to the working part of the machinery. The thing will be hard and somewhat hazardous; but it is a grand opportunity of earning considerable _kudos_. Will you undertake it?’ ‘Undertake it!’ said Seaton, springing to his feet. ‘Will I not? Felix, you have made a new man of me. Had it not been for you, I don’t know what would have become of us by this time. I cannot thank you in words, but you know that I feel your kindness.’ ‘I do not see why this should not lead to something like fortune; anyway, it means comfort and ease, if I do not mistake your capacity,’ said Felix, totally ignoring the other’s gratitude. ‘If I were in your place, I should not tell my wife I was doing anything dangerous.’ ‘Poor child, how thankful she will be! But you are perfectly right as regards the danger—not that I fear it particularly, though there is no reason to make her anxious.’ ‘What mischief are you plotting?’ said Eleanor, entering the room at that moment. ‘You look on particularly good terms with yourselves.’ ‘Good news, Nelly, good news! I have actually got permanent work to do. You need not ask whose doing it is.’ ‘No, no,’ said Felix modestly. ‘It is your own capability you must thank.—What about the patient?’ ‘I really must ask you to postpone your inquiry for the present,’ she replied; ‘she is incapable of answering any questions just now. Indeed, I am so uneasy, that I have sent for a doctor.’ ‘Indeed! Well, I suppose we must wait for the present.—And now, I must tear myself away,’ said Felix, as he rose and proceeded to button his overcoat.—‘Seaton, you must hold yourself in readiness for your work at any moment.—No thanks, please,’ as Eleanor was about to speak. ‘Now, I must go.—Good-night, little Nelly; don’t forget to think of poor old Uncle Jasper sometimes.’ ‘Good-night, Felix,’ said Edgar with a hearty hand-shake. ‘I won’t thank you; but you know how I feel.—Good-night, dear old boy!’ ‘IN AT THE DEATH.’