She was much agitated, and cried, “Oh, you did well to bring him to-day.  I could not have kept it another hour.  I’m a wretch.”

“You are a good kind girl; and here’s the fifty pounds I promised you.”

“Well, and I have earned it.”

“Of course you have.  Meet me in the garden to-morrow morning, and I’ll show you you have done a kind thing to your mistress, as well as me.  And as for the fifty pounds, that is nothing; do you hear? it is nothing at all, compared with what I will do for you, if you will be true to me, and hold your tongue.”

“Oh! as for that, my tongue shan’t betray you, nor shame me.  You are a gentleman, and I do think you love her, or I would not help you.”

So she salved her nursemaid’s conscience—­with the help of the fifty pounds.

The mother was left to her rapture that night.  In the morning Falcon told his tale.

“At two P.M. a man had called on him, and had produced one of his advertisements, and had asked him if that was all square—­no bobbies on the lurk.  ‘All square, my fine fellow.’  ‘Well,’ said he, ’I suppose you are a gentleman.’  ‘I am of that opinion too.’  ‘Well, sir,’ says he, ’I know a party as has found a young gent as comes werry nigh your advertisement.’  ‘It will be a very lucky find to that party,’ I said, ‘if he is on the square.’  ’Oh, we are always on the square, when the blunt is put down.’  ’The blunt for the child, when you like, and where you like,’ said I.  ‘You are the right sort,’ said he.  ‘I am,’ replied I.  ‘Will you come and see if it is all right?’ said he.  ‘In a minute,’ said I. Stepped into my bedroom, and loaded my six-shooter.”

“What is that?” said Lusignan.

“A revolver with six barrels:  by the by, the very same I killed the lion with.  Ugh!  I never think of that scene without feeling a little quiver; and my nerves are pretty good, too.  Well, he took me into an awful part of the town, down a filthy close, into some boozing ken—­I beg pardon, some thieves’ public-house.”

“Oh, my dear friend,” said Rosa, “were you not frightened?”

“Shall I tell you the truth, or play the hero?  I think I’ll tell you the truth.  I felt a little frightened, lest they should get my money and my life, without my getting my godson:  that is what I call him now.  Well, two ugly dogs came in, and said, ’Let us see the flimsies, before you see the kid.’

“‘That is rather sharp practice, I think,’ said I; ’however, here’s the swag, and here’s the watch-dog.’  So I put down the notes, and my hand over them with my revolver cocked, and ready to fire.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rosa pantingly.  “Ah, you were a match for them.”