Fortunately I was by myself when I received the letter.  I fell upon my bed, and in a moment I was covered with a cold sweat, while I trembled like a leaf.  I saw the gallows before me, for nobody would lend me the money, and they would not wait for my remittance from Venice to reach me.

To my shuddering fit succeeded a burning fever.  I loaded my pistols, and went out with the determination of blowing out Baron Stenau’s brains, or putting him under arrest if he did not give me the money.  I reached his house, and was informed that he had sailed for Lisbon four days ago.

This Baron Stenau was a Livonian, and four months after these events he was hanged at Lisbon.  I only anticipate this little event in his life because I might possibly forget it when I come to my sojourn at Riga.

As soon as I heard he was gone I saw there was no remedy, and that I must save myself.  I had only ten or twelve guineas left, and this sum was insufficient.  I went to Treves, a Venetian Jew to whom I had a letter from Count Algarotti, the Venetian banker.  I did not think of going to Bosanquet, or Sanhel, or Salvador, who might possibly have got wind of my trouble, while Treves had no dealings with these great bankers, and discounted a bill for a hundred sequins readily enough.  With the money in my pocket I made my way to my lodging, while deadly fear dogged every step.  Leigh had given me twenty-four hours’ breathing time, and I did not think him capable of breaking his word, still it would not do to trust to it.  I did not want to lose my linen nor three fine suits of clothes which my tailor was keeping for me, and yet I had need of the greatest promptitude.

I called in Jarbe and asked him whether he would prefer to take twenty guineas and his dismissal, or to continue in my service.  I explained that he would have to wait in London for a week, and join me at the place from which I wrote to him.

“Sir,” said he, “I should like to remain in your service, and I will rejoin you wherever you please.  When are you leaving?”

“In an hour’s time; but say not a word, or it will cost me my life.”

“Why can’t you take me with you?”

“Because I want you to bring my linen which is at the wash, and my clothes which the tailor is making.  I will give you sufficient money for the journey.”

“I don’t want anything.  You shall pay me what I have spent when I rejoin you.  Wait a moment.”

He went out and came back again directly, and holding out sixty guineas, said,—­

“Take this, sir, I entreat you, my credit is good for as much more in case of need.”

“I thank you, my good fellow, but I will not take your money, but be sure I will not forget your fidelity.”

My tailor lived close by and I called on him, and seeing that my clothes were not yet made up I told him that I should like to sell them, and also the gold lace that was to be used in the trimming.  He instantly gave me thirty guineas which meant a gain to him of twenty-five per cent.  I paid the week’s rent of my lodging, and after bidding farewell to my negro I set out with Daturi.  We slept at Rochester, as my strength would carry me no farther.  I was in convulsions, and had a sort of delirium.  Daturi was the means of saving my life.