During his four years' residence in London, it was evident that his means fluctuated in some wonderful way. His house was the rendezvous of men of all ranks who were on the turf, and his life was passed in a state of perpetual excitement. Netta did not see much of him, except at their own table, or that of their acquaintances. When she was alone with him, he was either quite silent, or abusive; the career of such a man will be better understood by most of my readers, than described by me. The resorts of black-legs, and the betting-books of men on the turf, the dishonourable payment of so-called debts of honour, the trickery of horse-dealers, horse-trainers, and horse-racers, and the wretched madness of professed gamblers, are things we have all heard of, but of which, happily, comparatively few of us know much, practically. Howel managed to maintain his reputation as a gentleman and man of large fortune, even when he was, from time to time, on the verge of ruin; and the purchase of Sir Samuel Spendall's property in Yorkshire, when that baronet was obliged to leave the country for debt, confirmed the opinion of his wealth. Every one did not know that Sir Samuel, like Mr Simpson, owed him an enormous sum of money, for various bets, loans, and even mortgages, of which Howel kept quite as usurious an account as his father would have done before him, and at which the lawyers of those gentlemen shook their heads, although they could not disprove any item of it. Howel had learnt enough of law to serve his purposes, and to teach him how far he might venture to go, in the matter of interest and compound interest, with impunity. Howel's friend, Mr Deep, was a lawyer by profession. He had duly taken out his stamps, and had chambers in Lincoln's Inn, and did such business as fell in his way amongst his sporting friends. It was he who had been Howel's attorney in all his dealings with Sir Samuel Spendall, Mr Simpson and others, and although his reputation was not very good amongst his professional brethren, nothing dishonourable had ever been proved against him. We will now look into the chambers of this worthy in Lincoln's Inn, and listen to a conversation that is passing between him and Howel, over what appears to be their mid-day potation of brandy and water. Howel's manner is excited, and his face at its darkest; Mr Deep is calm, and his face smooth as usual. 'You see, we must have money!' says Howel, 'I, at least, must have six thousand five hundred pounds before this month is out. I owe that to Dancy, who, of all men in the world, I don't choose to make wait. If I lose at the Derby, I must have twenty thousand more.' 'But the chances are you will win. Alma is pretty safe, I think.'