One was a man of about thirty years of age, with florid complexion, light hair, and red whiskers,—yet possessing a countenance which, viewed as a whole, was very far from disagreeable. His eyes were of a deep blue, and indicated not only good-humour but a certain generosity of disposition which was not impaired by an association with many less amiable qualities—such as a wild recklessness of character, an undaunted bravery, a love of perilous adventure, and a sad deficiency of principle on particular points, the nature of which will hereafter transpire. He was evidently proud of a very fine set of teeth, the brilliancy of which compensated for the somewhat coarse thickness of his lips; and the delicate whiteness of his hands showed that he did not earn his livelihood by any arduous labour. In person he was about the middle-height—by no means inclined to corpulency—and yet possessing a well-knit frame, with a muscular power indicative of great physical strength. His dress partook of the half-sporting, half-rakish character—consisting of a high chimney-pot kind of hat, with very narrow brims, a checked blue silk neckerchief, fine linen, a buff waistcoat, cut-away Newmarket-style of green coat, drab-breeches, and top-boots. The proper name of this flash gentleman was Thomas Rainford; but his friends had taken the liberty of docking each word of a syllable; and he was invariably known as Tom Rain. The other individual was an old man, of at least sixty, with white hair, but eyes of fire glaring from beneath a pair of thick, shaggy grey brows. He was upwards of six feet in height, and but little bowed by the weight of years which he bore. Having lost all his teeth, his mouth had fallen in so as to form a complete angle, the depth of which was rendered the more remarkable by the extreme prominence of his hooked nose and his projecting chin. He was as thin as it was possible to be without having the bones actually protruding through the skin, which hung upon them like a tanned leather casing. He was dressed in a long grey surtout coat, reaching below his knees; a pair of shabby black trousers, very short; and black cloth gaiters fitting loosely over that description of shoes generally denominated high-lows. On his head he wore a greasy cap, with a large front: his linen was by no means of the cleanest; and his appearance altogether was excessively unprepossessing—if not absolutely revolting. What his real name was, very few of even his most intimate acquaintances were aware; for his dreadful emaciation of form had procured for him the frightful pseudonym of _Old Death_. Tom Rain and his hideous companion entered the public-house in White Hart Street, nodded familiarly to the landlord as they passed by the bar, and ascended the stairs to a private room on the first floor. Having seated themselves at the table, Tom Rain began the conversation. "Well, have you considered my proposal?" he asked.