who had been lately seen too often, and, it was supposed, had been watched.  Moggy was not sorry to receive her instructions, which were, to remain at Portsmouth until Lazarus the Jew should give her further orders; for there was one point which Moggy was most anxious to accomplish, now that she could do it without risking a retaliation upon her husband, which was, to use her own expression, to pay off that snivelling old rascal, Vanslyperken.

But we must leave Moggy and the movements of individuals, and return to our general history.  The Yungfrau was detained a fortnight at Amsterdam, and then received the despatches of the States General and those of Ramsay, with which Vanslyperken returned to Portsmouth.  On his arrival, he went through his usual routine at the admiral’s and the Jew’s, received his douceur, and hastened to his mother’s house, when he found the old woman, as she constantly prophesied, not dead yet.

“Well, child, what have you brought—­more gold?”

“Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, laying down the one hundred and fifty guineas which he had received.

“Bless thee, my son—­bless thee!” said the old woman, laying her palsied hand upon Vanslyperken’s head.  “It is not often I bless—­I never did bless as I can recollect—­I like cursing better.  My blessing must be worth something, if it’s only for its scarcity; and do you know why I bless thee, my Cornelius?  Because—­ha, ha, ha! because you are a murderer and a traitor, and you love gold.”

Even Vanslyperken shuddered at the hag’s address.

“What do you ever gain by doing good in this world? nothing but laughter and contempt.  I began the world like a fool, but I shall go out of it like a wise woman, hating, despising everything but gold.  And I have had my revenge in my time—­yes—­yes—­the world, my son, is divided into only two parts, those who cheat, and those who are cheated—­those who master, and those who are mastered—­those who are shackled by superstitions and priests, and those who, like me, fear neither God nor devil.  We must all die; yes, but I shan’t die yet, no, no.”

And Vanslyperken almost wished that he could gain the unbelief of the decrepit woman whom he called mother, and who, on the verge of eternity, held fast to such a creed.

“Well, mother, perhaps it may be you are right—­I never gained anything by a good action yet.”

Query.  Had he ever done a good action?

“You’re my own child, I see, after all; you have my blessing, Cornelius, my son—­go and prosper.  Get gold—­get gold,” replied the old hag, taking up the money, and locking it up in the oak chest.

Vanslyperken then narrated to his mother the unexpected interview with Smallbones, and his surmise that the lad was supernaturally gifted.  “Ah, well,” replied she, “those who are born to be hung will die by no other death; but still it does not follow that they will not die.  You shall have your revenge, my child.  The lad shall die.  Try again; water, you say, rejects him?  Fire will not harm him.  There is that which is of the earth and of the air left.  Try again, my son; revenge is sweet, next to gold.”