“I never met his equal yet to put a fellow in a cleft stick,” muttered Beecher, as he walked to and fro in intense agitation, “and he's just the man also, whenever anything goes wrong, not to listen to a word of explanation. 'Why didn't you do as I bade you?' or, 'As I ordered you?' for that's his phrase generally. 'Who told _you_ that you had any option in the matter? Did _I_ take you into consultation? Play up to _my_ hand!' that's his cry. 'Play up to _my_ hand, and never mind your own!' Well, I have been doing so some ten or twelve years back, and a nice game I've made of it! Break with him!--of course I'd break with him, if any one would tell me how! Egad, sometimes I begin to think that transportation and the rest of it would not be a bit harder to bear than old Grog's tyranny! It wears one out,--it positively drains a man's nature dry!” There are volcanic throes, that, however they may work and struggle, throw up no lava; so with Beecher. All his passionate indignation could not rouse him to action, although his actual suffering might have prompted energy to any amount. He took out Davis's letter and re-read it. One line which had escaped his attention before, now caught his eye on the blank leaf. It ran thus: “Take care that you do not delay at Aix after receipt of this. Benson's fellows are after you.” A cold shudder came over Beecher as he perused the line. Benson's fellows meant bailiffs, detectives, or something of the like. Benson was a money-lender of the most inveterate villany,--a fellow who had pursued more men of station and condition than any one living. He was the terror of the “swells.” To be in Benson's hands meant ruin in its most irretrievable shape; and at the very moment he stood there his minions were on his track! Ere he was well aware of it, he was back at the little window of the cottage. “I must have this money on your own terms, Stein,” said he. “I find that Davis has some urgent need of my presence. I can't delay here another day.” “How many tousend gulden, milord?” asked the Jew respectfully, as he dipped his pen in the ink-bottle. “Davis says two--I should like to say four, or even five.” “Five if you wish it, milord; to me is it all as one--five, fifteen, or fifty; whatever sum you want.” Beecher put his hand on the other's wrist to detain him while he took a moment's counsel with himself. Never had such a golden opportunity as this presented itself. Never before had he seen the man who so generously proffered his services. It was ask and have. Was he to reject such good fortune?--was he to turn his back on the very first piece of luck that had ever befallen him? What heartburnings might he be storing up for future years when he looked back to the time that, with a word, he might have made his fortune! “But are you quite sure, friend Lazarus, that if I say eight or ten thousand,--for I don't want more,--Davis will be as willing to back the bill?” “I am quite sure.”