Chewkle tried to laugh, but no sound issued from his distended jaws. He felt his flesh crawl and creep over his bones, and his marrow vibrate; his scalp seemed to have the “pins and needles,” and his hair to rise slowly up, dust and all, threatening to tilt his hat into the mud.
Nathan grinned at him like a Hindoo idol, nodded, and, diving among the flowing stream of persons ceaselessly passing on, disappeared. Chewkle shuddered, and drew a long breath. “I believe he’s the devil hisself,” he groaned, and slowly--now doubtfully--pursued his way to Grahame’s abode, made very uneasy by the conviction that the secret of his morning’s performance was not exclusively confined to himself.
_Tra_.--I pray, sir, tell me--is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold?
_Luc._--Oh, Tranio, till I found it to be true,
When Hal Vivian and Flora Wilton, summoned by Nathan Gomer, rejoined old Wilton, prior to his departure from the Queen’s Bench, they found him at the gate, leading into the ante-chamber or cage, through which every incomer or outgoer must pass, awaiting them.
He appeared, in the eyes of both Flora and Hal, to have become another being.
He was yet meanly clad, his face was still furrowed, and bore the lines of care and sorrow, and his hair straggled loosely and wildly; but there was a brilliancy in his eye, recently so dim; there was a hectic flush upon his cheek, of late wan and pallid; and his figure, some few hours past drooping, the symbol of hopeless wretchedness, was now erect, firm, and that of a gentleman.
Even the tone of his voice had undergone a change. It had been sharp, though weak and querulous--it was now round and clear, indicating a heart purified and emancipated from the destroying influences of despair.
His manner, which had been that of a grateful and respectful recipient of services, now assumed the character of the power to confer them, not haughtily nor patronisingly, but gently and kindly, still marked by conscious elevation of position.
The golden key, used by some, as yet unknown, good angel, had shot back the bolts of the prison to let Eustace Wilton pass into the free world beyond. The gatekeepers had an instinctive respect for a man who could pay two thousand pounds after so short a detention, so they cast away their brusque, sharp, extraofficial impertinence of manner, and obsequiously congratulated him upon his early departure. They expressed their full and decided conviction that he would not quit “Hudson’s Hotel” without remembering those attached to the establishment, because, as the spokesman forcibly rather than elegantly observed--