"The kindest thing would be to drop you in the river. Alice has left it to me. Well, you are a hopeless creature. Whatever is done for you will be money thrown away. I did think of asking your cousin, the draper, to give you a place in his shop. You might sweep it out and water the floor, and carry out the parcels--or you might walk up and down outside in uniform, and a gold band to your cap." "Mr. Haveril--sir--I am a gentleman. Don't insult a fallen gentleman, sir; I've employed my own shop-assistants." "But I fear he would do nothing for you." "I came here--one day three weeks ago--you were away--I knew that. I gave Alice some secret information just for her own ear, not the kind of thing she would tell you." "Get on, man!" "I told her--you don't know, of course; I told her you ought to know--you suppose he's dead." "Man! man!" said John. "Alice's first husband--Anthony Woodroffe. You think he's dead. I told her where he was." "Where?" Dick sat up, suddenly. "Anthony Woodroffe?" "Why should I ask whether he's dead or alive?" "That's what Alice said. As for me, I told her I was astonished. 'Alice,' I said, 'I did think you were respectable.'" "What does this man mean?" asked Dick. "Anthony Woodroffe?" "Well, boy," said John, "this chap brought us the news where he was. We thought, on the whole, there was no need to tell you--so we didn't tell you. I've been to see him. He's pretty comfortable." "He is pretty comfortable," said Anthony's late companion between the boards. "If Abraham's bosom is better than the cold kerb, and softer than the doss-house, he is quite comfortable--for he died this morning." "Where did he die?" asked Dick. "In the Marylebone Workhouse Infirmary." The man got up and shuffled away. As he went out of the room, he held out his hand, and there was the chink of coin. "My father dead!" "Ay, lad, he's dead. What better for you and everybody? I've seen him, on and off, most days. He was a hardened sinner, if ever there was one." "Dead! I have been taught to regard him with a kind of loathing; but--we can only have one father. Dead! In a workhouse infirmary!" "He has left two sons. You are not the only one." "Two sons. Yes"--concerning his half-brother Dick could not choose but speak vindictively--"the other will hear to-morrow who his father was. He shall hear also that his father is dead. He and I will be the mourners at the pauper's funeral." CHAPTER XXIII. ONE MORE ATTEMPT. "That man again!" Lady Woodroffe threw the card into the fire. "Tell him I will not see him. No. Let him come up."