Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

224 RAVENSHOE.
consciously, almost touching Charles, he came to the determination that he would try what bargain he could make with the
honor of Charles's sister, whom he had so shamefully injured
already. And Charles saw them make the appointment together in the balcony — how little he guessed for what!
Lord Hainault was right. Welter was a scoundrel. But
Hornby was not, as we shall see.
Hornby loved play for play's sake; and, extravagant dandy
though he was, the attorney blood of his father came out sometimes so strong in him that, although he would have paid any
price to be near and speak to Ellen, yet he could not help winning, to Lord Welter's great disgust, and his own great amusement. Their game, I believe, was generally picquet or ecarte',
and at both these he was Lord Welter's master. What with his
luck and his superior play, it was very hard to lose decently
sometimes; and sometimes, as I said, he would cast his plans to
the winds, and win terribly. But he always repented when he
saw Lord Welter get savage, and lost dutifully, though at times
he could barely keep his countenance. Nevertheless, the balance
he allowed to Lord Welter made a very important item in that
gentleman's somewhat precarious income.
But, in spite of all his sacrifices, he but rarely got even a
glimpse of Ellen. And, to complicate matters, Adelaide, who
sat by and watched the play; and saw Hornby purposely losing
at times, got it into her silly head that he was in love with her.
She liked the man; who did not? But she had honor enough
left to be rude to him. Hornby saw all this, and was amused. I
often think that it must have been a fine spectacle to see the
honorable man playing with the scoundrel, and giving him just as
much line as he chose. And when I call Hornby an honorable
man, I mean what I say, as you will see.
This was the state of things when the Derby crash came. At
half-past five on that day the Viscountess Welter dashed up to her
elegant residence in St. John's Wood, in a splendid barouche,
drawn by four horses, and when " her people" came and opened
the door and let down the steps, lazily descended, and, followed
by her footman bearing her fal-lals, lounged up the steps as if life
were really too ennuyant to be borne any longer. Three hours
afterwards, a fierce, eager woman, plainly dressed, with a dark
veil, was taking apartments in the Bridge Hotel, London Bridge,
for Mr. and Mrs. Staunton, who were going abroad in a few days;
and was overseeing, with her confidential servant, a staid man in
black, the safe stowage of numerous hasped oak boxes, the most
remarkable thing about which was their great weight. The lady
was Lady Welter, and the man was Lord Welter's confidential
scoundrel. The landlord thought they had robbed Hunt and