"He says we must all go, sir," sobbed out the luckless widow. "He came down stairs from you just now—he had been drinking, and it always makes him very wicked—and he said that you had insulted him, sir, and treated him like a dog, and spoken to him unkindly; and he swore he would be revenged, and—and I owe him a hundred and twenty pounds, sir—and he has a bill of sale of all my furniture—and says he will turn me out of my house, and send my poor George to prison. He has been the ruin of my family, that man."
"Dev'lish sorry, Mrs. Brixham; pray take a chair. What can I do?"
"Could you not intercede with him for us? George will give half his allowance; my daughter can send something. If you will but stay on, sir, and pay a quarter's rent in advance—"
"My good madam, I would as soon give you a quarter in advance as not, if I were going to stay in the lodgings. But I can't; and I can't afford to fling away twenty pounds, my good madam. I'm a poor half-pay officer, and want every shilling I have, begad. As far as a few pounds goes—say five pounds—I don't say—and shall be most happy, and that sort of thing: and I'll give it you in the morning with pleasure: but—but it's getting late, and I have made a railroad journey."
"God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, drying her tears. "I must bear my fate."
"And a dev'lish hard one it is, and most sincerely I pity you, Mrs.
Brixham. I—I'll say ten pounds, if you will permit me. Good night."
"Mr. Morgan, sir, when he came down stairs, and when—when I besought him to have pity on me, and told him he had been the ruin of my family, said something which I did not well understand—that he would ruin every family in the house—that he knew something would bring you down too—and that you should pay him for your—your insolence to him. I—I must own to you, that I went down on my knees to him, sir; and he said, with a dreadful oath against you, that he would have you on your knees."
"Me?—by Gad, that is too pleasant! Where is the confounded fellow?"
"He went away, sir. He said he should see you in the morning. O, pray try and pacify him, and save me and my poor boy." And the widow went away with this prayer, to pass her night as she might, and look for the dreadful morrow.
The last words about himself excited Major Pendennis so much, that his compassion for Mrs. Brixham's misfortunes was quite forgotten in the consideration of his own case.