Misery, we are told, makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows. So does that modern form of misery called impecuniosity, which has its agonies more sharp than any primitive form of privation or pain. It is one of the worst penalties of the want of money, that the subject of that fatal want feels such eagerness to anticipate help that he is ready to look for it in the most unlikely places, and in his extremity will stretch his hand out in the dark to meet anybody’s grasp. This rash eagerness of desperation specially belongs to the exhausted state of mind and purse in which Frederick now found himself. He was past all calculation of probabilities, ready to seize upon any shadow of aid, however attained. Insensibly he slid into his chair, and a faint gleam of hope and light seemed to diffuse itself in the dull air around him. He took a rapid survey of the situation. His repugnance for the man who sat opposite to him, watching his movements, was not in any degree lessened; but he reflected that anyhow he had betrayed himself to this man. Stranger and _vaurien_ though he seemed, he held the character of the accomplished Frederick Eastwood in his hands; and every principle of self-preservation, and of that respect for the world’s opinion which was his curse and his punishment, moved him to try what means he could of bringing some advantage out of this now inevitable evil. He seated himself with a sigh of impatience and wretchedness, sheathing his sword, so to speak. “The truth is, I am in a scrape, and I don’t see my way out of it,” he said. “Tell me all about it, Mr. Eastwood; I’ll find a way out of it,” said Batty, rubbing his greasy hands. I suppose they were greasy hands. At all events, it was this particular which dwelt on Frederick’s memory and revolted his fine feelings. Ugh! the thought made him sick years after. In the meantime, however, he had no time to be nice. “The fact is,” he said, with hesitation, “that I was on my way to Italy on business”---- Here he paused, remembering what Batty had said of an interest in the Eastwoods. “On family business. I had something to do--of importance; and I have been--detained here.” This euphemism delighted his companion. He gave a horse-laugh, which affected Frederick’s nerves. “Yes; you have been--detained here: I understand. By Jove, you _are_ fun,” said this appreciative listener. Frederick took no notice of the vulgar outburst. Now that he had business in hand he could be clear enough. He laid bare his necessities to this strange and novel adviser. There is no telling--as men in Frederick Eastwood’s condition easily find out--in what strange regions money, and the inclination to lend it, may be found. Nothing could be less promising than this coarse Englishman, who had thrust himself into the young man’s path so much against his will; and yet in this unlikely quarter salvation was to be found. We need not concern ourselves here about Mr. Batty’s motives.