voice cried forth the names of the numbers which were drawnat each turn of the wheel by the Bluecoat boys.
Lady Tryon pushed her way forward in the gallery that she might be asnear as possible to the table. Harry had to leave her. He went roundinto the centre space, and stood under the part of the gallery where sheat length found a seat. With trembling hands, Lady Tryon sat with thenumbers of her tickets before her. She kept those also which sheprofessed to give to Harry. As the numbers were loudly proclaimed achange came over the countenance of the eager spectators. When thetickets turned up blanks a look of satisfaction beamed on the faces ofall, except the unhappy holder of the number, whereas when a prize wasannounced, each one present felt that his or her chance was lessened ofobtaining the wished-for wealth. Sometimes a _groan_ of despairsucceeded the drawing of a number. To purchase that number yon wretchedman has been hoarding perhaps for months past, nearly starving himselfand those dependent on him, or may be he has been robbing his employer,intending to repay when he should become the possessor of the mightyprize which has been the dream of his midday thoughts and nightlyslumbers for so many weeks past. Occasionally, at small intervals,shouts arose from a small group--they had divided the sixteenth part ofa ticket among them, and it had turned up a prize. They might be seenshaking hands and laughing strangely, and running into each other'sarms, as their feelings prompted them. Too probably, however, thegreater part of the amount would be spent in other tickets, to turn upblanks. A young man was there standing near Harry with haggardcountenance, his eager eye fixed on the wheels. A number was cried out.He gazed at a paper before him and ran out, frantically striding hisforehead. A pistol shot was heard outside the hall, but the soundscarcely moved one of the eager crowd. Harry afterwards heard that theyoung man had shot himself, utterly ruined. Such has been the fate ofmany a man after losing his all at a gambling-house. Such in realitywas the use to which the Guildhall of London was at that time put. Asthe numbers were called out, Harry guessed by the expression of LadyTryon's countenance that one after the other of those she held in herhand had turned up blanks. Even the rouge on her cheeks could notconceal the deadly pallor which was creeping over her countenance. Herhands trembled more and more. She dropped paper after paper. At lengthshe held but one in her hand. Some hours had already passed since theyentered the hall: no wonder that she was fatigued. Each time anothernumber was called out she glanced at her paper. And now, in the sameindifferent voice as before, the crier announced another number. Apiercing shriek was heard.
"The old lady has fainted!" cried some of the females in the gallerynear her, and Harry saw his grandmother falling back from her chair.
"Help! help!" was cried. "She is dying!"
He made his way to the gallery and lifted her in his arms. Her headfell helplessly down; her hands drooped. One hand still grasped thepaper which had been declared a blank. Not one of those females, mostof them ladies of rank and supposed sensibility, offered him theslightest assistance. Their numbers had not yet been drawn, and theywould not sacrifice a moment to assist a dying fellow-creature even oftheir own station in life. Harry exerted all his strength to get LadyTryon out of the gallery.
"Is there no medical man who will assist me?" he cried out.
"I will, sir," exclaimed a somewhat foppishly dressed individual,stepping forward.
"Stay, beware of him, he is a pickpocket," said a voice near him.
Harry declined the services of the stranger.
No medical man came forward. A crowd, however, collected round him, andeven before his eyes he saw the brooch and chains which his grandmotherwore torn off and carried away by nimble fingers, at which he in vainattempted to grasp. "It matters little," he thought, "she will neverdiscover her loss." He hoped to be able to carry her to her carriage,and as the crowd at last made way for him he bore her along the street.Fortunately he soon caught sight of the livery of her coachman. She wasplaced in her carriage, and Harry took his seat by her side, telling thecoachman to stop at the first doctor's shop they came to. The carriagesoon stopped in front of a window full of bright-coloured liquids, andbefore Harry had time even to get out, a gentleman bustled up to thecarriage door.
"Can I render any professional assistance?" he asked, looking in.
"Yes," exclaimed Harry; "what can be done for this lady?"
"Will she step out?" asked the medical practitioner.
"She is unable, sir," said Harry.
"Oh! I beg pardon; I will feel her pulse," was the rejoinder. Theapothecary made a long face.
"Why, do you know, sir, the old lady is dead!" he exclaimed, ratheroffended at Harry having brought him out to a dead patient. "I can donothing for her, sir."
"Dead!" exclaimed Harry, with a feeling of horror. "Are you sure thatshe is dead?"
"Never was more sure of a fact in my life, sir. You can send for herexecutors and the undertaker when you get home; that is the only adviceI can give you."
Harry told the coachman to drive on. "But do I not owe you a fee, sir,for your trouble?"
"Oh, no, sir, no; that would be too much," said the apothecary, thinkingthat he had been too plain-spoken with the young man, who might possiblybe a relative of the old lady, though he was somewhat young to be herson.
Harry fortunately recollected Lady Tryon's man of business. He sent forhim, as he did also for Mr. Kyffin.
"I will leave you still here," said his old friend, who came that veryevening, "and when your grandmother's affairs have been arranged youmust come to my house. I hope that you will find yourself leftcomfortably off. Let me entreat you not to be idle, Harry; it is thevery worst employment a man can engage in." Harry shook his head. "Idoubt my being well off," he answered. "We will hope for the best,"said Mr. Kyffin. Harry had good reason for his doubts. Even before hisgrandmother's body was placed in her coffin, an execution was put intothe house. Every article in it was seized by her creditors, and evenafter all her property had been disposed of, many were still leftunpaid. Harry was literally destitute. For himself he would not havefelt it so much, but it was a cruel thought that he must relinquish allhis hopes of obtaining Mabel. He had, however, one firm friend.
"My dear boy," said Mr. Kyffin, "this may be, after all, the best thingthat could have happened to you. Had your grandmother left you well offyou might have turned out an idler. I have sufficient influence, Ithink, with your relative, Mr. Coppinger, to obtain a situation for youin his house of business. The very fact that your unhappy grandmotherhas deceived you and left you totally unprovided for will weigh greatlywith him."
Harry wrote immediately to his great-uncle, Mr. Coppinger, and otherrelatives, announcing his grandmother's death. The following day themerchant appeared. He spoke kindly to Harry, and seemed satisfied withthe way he expressed himself.
"I have seen so little of my sister for so many years that I knownothing of her affairs," he observed, "but from what you tell me I amafraid that they are not in a satisfactory condition."
Harry, at that time, was not aware how utterly his grandmother hadruined herself. In a very few days, however, the merchant discoveredthat his sister had not left sufficient to pay her debts.
"However, it cannot be helped now. We must have as quiet a funeral aspossible, and the less said about the matter the better. I am notsurprised, as I heard something about her habits; but for you I amsorry, Harry. However, you are young, and the world is before you. Ifyou are disposed to work you can make your way, as many an honest steadyman has done, with fewer abilities than you possess, I suspect."
Harry assured his uncle that he was ready to work, but though he mighthave preferred entering the army or navy, he saw now clearly that hemust attempt some career by which he might maintain himself.
"Well, I will talk the matter over with your friend Mr. Kyffin, and hewill communicate the result to you," said Mr. Coppinger.
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The peop
le of Lynderton were greatly disappointed, and considered thatthey had a right to complain of Lady Tryon when they discovered that shewas not to be interred in their churchyard with the usualpomp-and-ceremony of persons of her position. Instead of that, she waslaid to rest in the burying-ground of the parish in which she died.Still more aggrieved were her creditors when they found they had toaccept only five shillings in the pound, and that they might considerthemselves very fortunate in obtaining that amount.
Roger Kyffin insisted on his young ward coming to live with him, and assoon as the creditors had taken charge of the house, Harry Tryon packedup his small possessions and removed to Hampstead.
"It is all arranged, Harry," said Mr. Kyffin, the following day; "youruncle will