“Oh, no!” he replied, in a voice whose tremulous tones betrayed the full extent of his agony and terrors.  “Oh, no!” he exclaimed.  “Spare me, whoever you are—­spare my life, and if you will come to mo to-morrow, I promise, in the presence of God, to make you independent as long as you live.  Oh, spare me, for the sake of the living God—­for I am not fit to die.  If you kill me now, you will have the perdition of my soul to answer for at the bar of judgment.  If you spare me, I will reform my life—­I will become a virtuous man.”

“Well,” replied the other, relaxing—­“for the sake of the name you have used, and in the hope that this may be a warnin’ to you for your good, I will leave your wicked and worthless life with you.  No, I’ll not be the man that will hurl you into perdition—­but it is on one condition—­you must hand me out your money before I have time to count ten.  Listen now—­if I haven’t every farthing that’s about you before that reckonin’s made, the bullet that’s in this pistol will be through your brain.”

The expedition of the baronet was amazing, for as Jemmy went on with this disastrous enumeration, steadily and distinctly, but not quickly, he had only time to get as far as eight when he found himself in possession of the baronet’s purse.

“Is it all here?” he asked.  “No tricks—­no lyin’—­the truth? for I’ll search you.”

“You may,” replied the other, with confidence; “and you may shoot me, too, if you find another farthing in my possession.”

“Now, then,” said Trailcudgel, “get home as well as you can, and reform your life as you promised—­as for me, I’ll keep the pistols; indeed, for my own sake, for I have no notion of putting them into your hands at present.”

He then disappeared, and the baronet, having with considerable difficulty gained the box-seat, reached home somewhat lighter in pocket than he had left it, convinced besides that an unexpected visit from a natural apparition is frequently much more to be dreaded than one from the supernatural.

The baronet was in the general affairs of life, penurious in money matters, but on those occasions where money was necessary to enable him to advance or mature his plans, conceal his proceedings, or reward his instruments, he was by no means illiberal.  This, however, was mere selfishness, or rather, we should say, self-preservation, inasmuch as his success and reputation depended in a great degree upon the liberality of his corruption.  On the present occasion he regretted, no doubt, the loss of the money, but we are bound to say, that he would have given its amount fifteen times repeated, to get once more into his hands the single pound-note of which he had treacherously and like a coward robbed Fenton while asleep in the carriage.  This loss, in connection With the robbery which occasioned it, forced him to retrace to a considerable extent the process of ratiocination on the subject of fate and destiny, in which he had so complacently indulged not long before.