‘Courage then, cries the knight, we may yet be forgiven,
Or at worst buy the bishop’s reversion in heaven;
Our frequent escapes in this world show how true ‘t is
That gold is the only Elixir Salutis.
Derry down, Derry down.’
‘All you who to swindling conveniently creep,
Ne’er piddle; by thousands the treasury sweep
Your safety depends on the weight of the sum,
For no rope was yet made that could tie up a plum.
Derry down, etc.’”
[From a ballad called “The Knight and the Prelate.”]
“Bravissimo, little Brad!—you are quite a wit! See what it is to have one’s faculties called out. Come, a toast to old England, the land in which no man ever wants a farthing who has wit to steal it,—‘Old England forever!’ your rogue is your only true patriot!” and Crauford poured the remainder of the bottle, nearly three parts full, into a beaker, which he pushed to Bradley. That convivial gentleman emptied it at a draught, and, faltering out, “Honest Sir John!—room for my Lady Bradley’s carriage,” dropped down on the floor insensible.
Crauford rose instantly, satisfied himself that the intoxication was genuine, and giving the lifeless body a kick of contemptuous disgust, left the room, muttering, “The dull ass, did he think it was on his back that I was going to ride off? He! he! he! But stay, let me feel my pulse. Too fast by twenty strokes! One’s never sure of the mind if one does not regulate the body to a hair! Drank too much; must take a powder before I start.”
Mounting by a back staircase to his bedroom, Crauford unlocked a chest, took out a bundle of clerical clothes, a large shovel hat, and a huge wig. Hastily, but not carelessly, induing himself in these articles of disguise, he then proceeded to stain his fair cheeks with a preparation which soon gave them a swarthy hue. Putting his own clothes in the chest, which he carefully locked (placing the key in his pocket), he next took from a desk on his dressing-table a purse; opening this, he extracted a diamond of great size and immense value, which, years before, in preparation of the event that had now taken place, he had purchased.
His usual sneer curled his lip as he gazed at it. “Now,” said he, “is it not strange that this little stone should supply the mighty wants of that grasping thing, man? Who talks of religion, country, wife, children? This petty mineral can purchase them all! Oh, what a bright joy speaks out in your white cheek, my beauty! What are all human charms to yours? Why, by your spell, most magical of talismans, my years may walk, gloating and revelling, through a lane of beauties, till they fall into the grave! Pish! that grave is an ugly thought,—a very, very ugly thought! But come, my sun of hope, I must eclipse you for a while! Type of myself, while you hide, I hide also; and when I once more let you forth to the day, then shine out Richard Crauford,—shine out!” So saying, he sewed the diamond carefully in the folds of his shirt; and, rearranging his dress, took the cooling powder, which he weighed out to a grain, with a scrupulous and untrembling hand; descended the back stairs; opened the door, and found himself in the open street.
The clock struck ten as he entered a hackney-coach and drove to another part of London. “What, so late!” thought he; “I must be at Dover in twelve hours: the vessel sails then. Humph! some danger yet! What a pity that I could not trust that fool! He! he! he!—what will he think tomorrow, when he wakes and finds that only one is destined to swing!”
The hackney-coach stopped, according to his direction, at an inn in the city. Here Crauford asked if a note had been left for Dr. Stapylton. One (written by himself) was given to him.
“Merciful Heaven!” cried the false doctor, as he read it, “my daughter is on a bed of death!”
The landlord’s look wore anxiety; the doctor seemed for a moment paralyzed by silent woe. He recovered, shook his head piteously, and ordered a post-chaise and four on to Canterbury without delay.
“It is an ill wind that blows nobody good!” thought the landlord, as he issued the order into the yard.