“No, no,” replied the other, with a knowing look; “If I were to do so, you'd slip out, while my back was turned, and raise the Castle. I've had trouble enough to elude their vigilance, during the bustle, to lose my liberty so easily again. By-and-bye, we'll go down stairs together, and break open the cellar;--it's all my own, you know, if right was cock of the walk. I'm for gamocks and junketting, I forewarn you, and we'll have a jolly night of it.” By this time, Caddy had approached the arras, with Cuddle fast in his clutch; he stooped down, and drawing forth an old fiddle and stick, put them into the hands of Cuddle; who, as may readily be imagined, was by no means enamoured of his situation. “Now,” said Caddy, “in the first place, my friend, play Rowley Waters. I have been trying to recollect the two last bars of it for these three years, but I cannot. Do you remember how beautifully my drunken old butler, Barnaby, used to troul it?” “Ay, those were merry days, cousin,” said Cuddle; “poor Barnaby! his passion for ale laid him low, at last.” “And many a time, before.” “What! was it in time of your sanity? I beg pardon--Do you remember, then, our finding him, flat on his back, by the side of an untapped vat of the stoutest beer that ever Caddy Castle could boast?--Methinks I can see him now, with the gimlet in his hand, with which he had made an aperture in the cask, and sucked the blood of barley-corn, to such an abominable extent--the old beast did--that--” “Don't asperse him, Cuddle,” said Caddy; “he put a peg in the hole before he died. He was the best of butlers; if he always drank a skinful, he never wasted a noggin. But now for Rowley Waters;--play up, and I'll jig.” “No, no,” said Cuddle, laying down the instrument; “I'll do no such thing;--I won't, by Jupiter!--that's resolute.” “Well, then, I'll play, and you shall dance.” “Don't make me swear,” said Cuddle; “don't, Caddy Caddy!--What! raise a riot again?--You don't know, perhaps, that I have, already, sinned egregiously;--although, I protest, without the least evil intention. Besides, it would produce that very effect which you wish to--Eh! what was I saying?--Well, I don't mind if I _do_ give you _one_ tune.” “Thank you, kindly, cousin Cuddle,” said Caddy, taking up the fiddle; “but you have raised an objection, which I admit to be of great weight. Oh! cousin Cuddle! Did you want to betray me?--I thank you for the hint:--we should, indeed, alarm my enemies. You overreached yourself, and saved me, cousin.” “Well, I scorn a lie,” replied Cuddle; “such a thought as you suspect did occur to me; for I protest I am not very comfortable in your company, much as I respect you. Go back to your bed; do, pr'ythee now, be ruled--oblige me, cousin;--for your own sake, go.” “Oh! what a thing self-interest is!” exclaimed Caddy; “'for your own sake, go,' quoth he, when it is solely for his! Cousin Cuddle, I shall not;--that's a plain answer for you.”