He was an “unsuccessful man,” and had involved many in losses with that of his own. Hence, for the sake of peace and quiet, he adopted every little expedient of which he was master to shun his many creditors and acquaintance. “I have secured my little country-house from the wreck of all my bygone wealth,” he sometimes would say; “let me live in peace.” The “retired” gentleman need not have had recourse to any stratagem to avoid those who once had known him. His present appearance was so altered, he had become so thin and cadaverous, and his attire withal was so “seedy” and out of fashion, that few would ever have recognized in him the spruce and scrupulously-attired Sir Andrew McTurk of former days, who could boast of having taken “risk” for almost fabulous sums. It was not the welfare of his only daughter Fanny, or of Phillip Redgill, his promising son in-law, which occasioned his visits to town. He hated both of them so intensely that he could not mention them without plunging himself into a fearful rage and stammering out a volley of oaths. His real motive was pure infatuation—to see if there was any earthly prospect of beginning business again, in some shape or form. City life had become so necessary to his existence that he seemed to loath the green fields and meadows, and sighed to be once more in the dusty streets round about the Exchange, or up in offices again, handling paper or counting gold. Old as he was, and far past the meridian of life, the ruling passion for money was still strong in him. Little temptation, perhaps, would have been requisite to prompt him again to nefarious deeds should the “chance” present itself. Phillip’s wife had casually heard of these visits of her father to the City, and sought every opportunity to see him. She did not desire assistance, but wished to beg his forgiveness for what she had done, and resolved that if he still betrayed any affection for her, she would beg of him to take her to his home, far from the City, and far from the ill-treatment and brutality of Phillip her husband, whose daily and increasing unkindness and neglect were killing her. While in waiting for her father, at the corner of St. Paul’s churchyard, Phillip met her. Being partly intoxicated, he abused her in unmeasured terms, and bade her go home instantly, at the same time irreparably wounding her womanly pride by inhuman epithets and accusations. In tears she stood in the public street, leaning against a lamp-post for support, when who should pass at the moment but Augustus Fumbleton, Esq., who, in despair at his loss of the captivating Miss Clara, had been consoling himself with a serene contemplation of the numerous tombstones in the churchyard, near the railings of which Mrs. Phillip Redgill stood sobbing. Fumbleton addressed the afflicted lady in a very respectful manner, and proffered to assist her home.