It was some seconds before I felt myself struck by this contrast; that is, before I fully recollected the circumstances which had preceded my unconsciousness.  These, however, gradually unfolded themselves, until the whole stood distinctly before me.  After having sat up for a second or two—­for I found myself still on the floor when I awoke, having been left to lie where I fell—­and having recalled all the circumstances of the day’s occurrences, I instinctively clapped my hand to the breast of my jacket to feel for my pocket-book.  It was again gone.  Thinking at first that it might have dropt out while I slept, I began groping about the floor; but there was no pocket-book there.  In great alarm I now started to my feet, and began calling on the house.  My calls were answered by the landlady herself, who, with a candle in her hand, and a fierce expression of face, flushed apparently with drink, entered the apartment, and sternly demanded what I wanted, and what I meant by making such a noise in her house.

Taking no notice of the uncourteous manner in which she had addressed me, I civilly asked her what had become of Mr. Lancaster.

“Who’s Mr. Lancaster?” she said fiercely.  “I know no Mr. Lancaster.”

“The gentleman,” I replied, “who came in here with me, and who drank wine with me.”

“I know nothing about him,” said the virago; “I never saw him before.”

“That’s strange,” said I; “he told me that he was in the habit of frequenting this house.”

“If he did so, he told you a lie,” replied the lady; “and I tell you again, that I know nothing about him, and that I never saw him before, nor ever expect to see him again.”

I now informed her that I missed a pocket-book containing a considerable sum of money, and, simply enough, asked her if she had it, or knew anything about it.

At this, her rage, which before she seemed to have great difficulty in controlling, burst out in the wildest fury.

“I know nothing about your pocket-book,” she exclaimed, stamping passionately on the floor; “nor do I believe you had one.  It’s all a fetch to bilk me out of my reckoning; but I’ll take care of you, you swindler!  I’m not to be done that way.  Come, down with the price of the two bottles of wine you and your pal drank—­fifteen shillings—­or I’ll have the worth of them out of your skin.”  And she flourished the candlestick in such a way as led me to expect every instant that it would descend on my skull.

Terrified by the ferocious manner and threatening attitude of the termagant, and beginning to feel that the getting safe out of the house ought to be considered as a most desirable object, I told her, in the most conciliatory manner I could assume, that I had not a farthing beyond two or three shillings, which she was welcome to; all my money having been in the pocket-book which I had lost—­I dared not say of which I had been robbed.

“Let’s see what you have, then,” she said, extending her hand to receive the loose silver I had spoken of.  I gave it to her.