On the disappearance of his servant and Chewkle, Mr. Grahame returned to his guests with a smiling face and perfect serenity of manner, although every one in the room noticed his haggard aspect and the ghastly whiteness of his face. As he made no complaint, they were too well bred to make any remark, and, exerting himself to please, his pallid anxiousness passed without further observation. In the meanwhile, Chewkle followed Whelks down stairs. The first twinges of pain were introducing themselves to Whelks’ notice. A sensation as if he was being repeatedly stabbed in the ear with a bradawl was the first intimation he had of something unpleasant coming on. He had a dim notion at the same time that Chewkle was addressing him as “guv’nor,” but the lunges with the figurative brad-awl were so brisk when they once commenced, that he was plunged into the wildest confusion, being for the moment uncertain whether he was descending to the mat at the foot of the stairs upon his highly-floured locks, or upon his tight patent pumps. Chewkle, on reaching the hall, however, made him understand that he was anxious to get change for a ten-pound note, and wished to know where he could achieve it; Whelks, who was desirous of holding a little conversation with him, in hopes to worm something out of him, explanatory of the strange and anomalous influence he evidently possessed with the head of the household, offered to accommodate him, having, he said he believed, as much gold in his purse. He produced it, and displayed to the greedy eyes of Chewkle some eighteen or twenty sovereigns. As Whelks counted out the gold, a storm of stabs set in on the inner portion of his ear, so that he grew embarrassed and handed a number of sovereigns to Chewkle, saying, as his eyes overran with water-- “See if they are right--ow! ow! ow! I’ve the dreadfullest pangs.” Chewkle counted eleven sovereigns, and said the amount was quite right. He handed the note to Whelks, and thrust the sovereigns into his pocket. “I was goin’ to say to you, sir,” commenced Whelks, “that I should like to have a ’arf-’our’s chat with you, if--ow! ow! ow! I never. Wheugh! oh, my hear.” “Bad thing,” said Chewkle, anxious to get off with the extra sovereign; “I should ’ave it hout.” “’Ave it hout?” echoed Whelks, “hits my hear, sir--ow! ow! ow!” “Yes, yes,” responded Chewkle, inattentive to everything but getting away, “’ave it hout by all means--get it done for a bob. Good night, good night.” He darted through the doorway, as the porter threw open the door to admit a friend of his own, and made the best of his way to his home. He lay awake, after getting to bed, for some time, busily plotting; and, before he dropped asleep, he made up his mind how he would act.