’Sot, fool, and poltroon—­triple qualification for mischief—­I don’t know why he still lives.  Irons—­a new vista opens, and this d——­d young man!’ All this was not, as we sometimes read, ‘mentally ejaculated,’ but quite literally muttered, as I believe every one at times mutters to himself.  ’Charles Archer living—­Charles Archer dead—­or, as I sometimes think, neither one nor t’other quite—­half man, half corpse—­a vampire—­there is no rest for thee:  no sabbath in the days of thy week.  Blood, blood—­blood—­’tis tiresome.  Why should I be a slave to these d——­d secrets.  I don’t think ’tis my judgment, so much as the devil, holds me here.  Irons has more brains than I—­instinct—­calculation—­which is oftener right?  Miss Gertrude Chattesworth, a mere whim, I think understood her game too.  I’ll deal with that to-morrow.  I’ll send Daxon the account, vouchers, and cheque for Lord Castlemallard—­tell Smith to sell my horses, and, by the next packet—­hey?’ and he kissed his hand, with an odd smirk, like a gentleman making his adieux, ’and so leave those who court the acquaintance of Charles Archer, to find him out, and catch their Tartar how they may.’

CHAPTER LXXVI.

RELATING HOW THE CASTLE WAS TAKEN, AND HOW MISTRESS MOGGY TOOK HEART OF GRACE.

That evening there came to the door of the Mills, a damsel, with a wide basket on her arm, the covering of which being removed, a goodly show of laces, caps, fans, wash-balls, buckles, and other attractions, came out like a parterre of flowers, with such a glow as dazzled the eyes of Moggy, at the study window.

‘Would you plaze to want any, my lady?’ enquired the pedlar.

Moggy thought they were, perhaps, a little bit too fine for her purse, but she could not forbear longing and looking, and asking the prices of this bit of finery and that, at the window; and she called Betty, and the two maids conned over the whole contents of the basket.

At last she made an offer for an irresistible stay-hook of pinchbeck, set with half-a-dozen resplendent jewels of cut glass, and after considerable chaffering, and a keen encounter of their wits, they came at last to terms, and Moggy ran out to the kitchen for her money, which lay in a brass snuff-box, in a pewter goblet, on the dresser.

As she was counting her coin, and putting back what she did not want, the latch of the kitchen door was lifted from without, and the door itself pushed and shaken.  Though the last red gleam of a stormy sunset was glittering among the ivy leaves round the kitchen window, the terrors of last night’s apparition were revived in a moment, and, with a blanched face, she gazed on the door, expecting, breathlessly, what would come.

The door was bolted and locked on the inside, in accordance with Doctor Toole’s solemn injunction; and there was no attempt to use violence.  But a brisk knocking began thereat and Moggy, encouraged by hearing the voices of Betty and the vender of splendours at the little parlour window, and also by the amber sunlight on the rustling ivy leaves, and the loud evening gossip of the sparrows, took heart of grace, and demanded shrilly—­