He placed a small sum of money on the table beside the spendthrift, and, having again entreated him to hope, and assured him of the means of retrieving himself, returned in a very thoughtful mood to the stairs where he had left his wherry. Well, perhaps, it would have been, had Rereworth not parted with his penitent, until he had placed him under some surveillance. He might have been prompted to confession by transient compunction, and might want courage to persevere; or the thought of public and inevitable disgrace might drive him to despair. But Seymour was too much moved by the unhappy man's condition to oppose his desire for the shelter of night to come forth from his lair. He made no delay at the Temple on his return, but proceeded straight to Mr. Winter's office. The worthy lawyer's eyes sparkled as he read the confession. Yet he observed it would be desirable to have it confirmed, if possible. After all, it _was_ a confession, and the testimony of an accomplice is always doubtful. There might be some question which story should be believed, the first or the second. On the face of the statement there appeared personal reasons for making it. The deponent might be influenced by rancour against his late employer. "Oh, never mind, my good sir," cried Rereworth; "have that statement put into a shape for attestation, and, trust me, it will be maintained." "Ay, ay," answered Winter; "and it will be a pleasant wedding present to meet our friend on his return." The suggestion was scarcely agreeable to Rereworth. He went back to his chambers, and read carefully through his notes of the trial at Bodmin; and he wrote Mr. Riches a short account of his discovery. CHAPTER XI. And this the world calls frenzy. But the wise Have a far deeper madness, and the glance Of melancholy is a fearful gift. What is it but the telescope of truth? Which strips the distance of its fantasies, And brings life near in utter nakedness, Making the cold reality too real. Byron. It is a misfortune for the historian that he is unable to present events as they really happened, simultaneously, but must be content to relate them one after another, thereby unavoidably impressing his reader with a false idea of the lapse of time. The same morning that Rereworth made his expedition to Lambeth, Mrs. Pendarrel paid a visit to her daughter in Cavendish Square. Restless, but languid; dejected, but unforgiving, she came to vent her querulousness on Mrs. Winston, in complaint and reproach. She wished also to learn, without showing the desire, what news had reached town respecting the fugitives. She could not close her heart entirely against the memory of her child. She liked to hear her mentioned, even when she answered the intelligence with anger and contempt. And so she came to Gertrude almost daily, to listen and to abuse.