“You are most welcome,” replied Houseman, with that tone of coarse, yet flippant jocularity, which afforded to the mien and manner of Aram a still stronger contrast than his more unrelieved brutality. “There,” said Aram, giving him a paper; “there you will perceive that the sum mentioned is secured to you, the moment you quit this country. When shall that be? Let me entreat haste.” “Your prayer shall be granted. Before day-break to-morrow, I will be on the road.” Aram’s face brightened. “There is my hand upon it,” said Houseman, earnestly. “You may now rest assured that you are free of me for life. Go home--marry--enjoy your existence--as I have done. Within four days, if the wind set fair, I am in France.” “My business is done; I will believe you,” said Aram, frankly, and rising. “You may,” answered Houseman. “Stay--I will light you to the door. Devil and death--how the d--d candle flickers.” Across the gloomy passage, as the candle now flared--and now was dulled--by quick fits and starts,--Houseman, after this brief conference, reconducted the Student. And as Aram turned from the door, he flung his arms wildly aloft, and exclaimed in the voice of one, from whose heart a load is lifted--“Now, now, for Madeline. I breathe freely at last.” Meanwhile, Houseman turned musingly back, and regained his room, muttering, “Yes--yes--my business here is also done! Competence and safety abroad--after all, what a bugbear is this conscience!--fourteen years have rolled away--and lo! nothing discovered! nothing known! And easy circumstances--the very consequence of the deed--wait the remainder of my days:--my child, too--my Jane--shall not want--shall not be a beggar nor a harlot.” So musing, Houseman threw himself contentedly on the chair, and the last flicker of the expiring light, as it played upward on his rugged countenance--rested on one of those self-hugging smiles, with which a sanguine man contemplates a satisfactory future. He had not been long alone, before the door opened; and a woman with a light in her hand appeared. She was evidently intoxicated, and approached Houseman with a reeling and unsteady step. “How now, Bess? drunk as usual. Get to bed, you she shark, go!” “Tush, man, tush! don’t talk to your betters,” said the woman, sinking into a chair; and her situation, disgusting as it was, could not conceal the rare, though somewhat coarse beauty of her face and person. Even Houseman, (his heart being opened, as it were, by the cheering prospects of which his soliloquy had indulged the contemplation,) was sensible of the effect of the mere physical attraction, and drawing his chair closer to her, he said in a tone less harsh than usual.