would see the cost defrayed out of my small means, on which you may rely.
So, honoured sir, I now conclude, begging you to believe that I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done for my child, and that also I thank the honest man, Mr. Quin, of whom you speak, and I do most earnestly pray that the God of the fatherless and the orphan may reward you for all. And, sir, with my greatest consideration to you, and a mother's fondest love to my child, whom I pray to see ere long, I remain your much obliged and grateful,
"Gerald," said Mr. Kinchella, when he had concluded reading this letter to me, over which, boy-like, I shed many tears, "her ladyship speaks well. Dublin is no place for thee. If in his lordship's lifetime you were not safe, how shall you be so when now you alone stand between your uncle and two peerages?"
"Yet," I exclaimed, while in my heart there had arisen a wild desire to once more see the dear mother from whom I had been so ruthlessly torn, "yet how could it be accomplished? Surely the cost of a journey to London would be great!"
"I have still a guinea or two in my locker," said Mr. Kinchella, "if that would avail-though I misdoubt it."
"I have a better plan, sir," exclaimed Quin, who was also of the party again on this occasion. "If his young lordship would not object to voyaging to London entirely by sea, there are many cattle-ships pass between that port and this by which he might proceed. Or, again, he might pass from here to Chester, there being many boats to Park Gate, or he might proceed to Milford."
"Yet he is over-young for such a journey," said kind Mr. Kinchella; he being, as ever, thoughtful for me. But I replied:
"Sir, have I not had to endure worse when I was even younger? The deck of a cattle-boat is of a certainty no worse than O'Rourke's cellar, and, however long the passage, of a surety there will be as much provision as was ever to be found in wandering about these streets ere I fell in with you and Oliver. I pray you, therefore, assist me to reach London if it be in your power."
"How much will it cost to defray the expense?" Mr. Kinchella asked of Quin, "by one of these boats? I fear me I have not the wherewithal to enable him to voyage by the packet."
"He can go for nothing, I think," replied the other, "if so be that I speak with one of the drovers who pass over frequently; or at most for a few shillings. He could go under the guise of that drover's boy, or help, and at least he would be safe from danger in that condition. The expense will be from Chester to London, if that is the route observed."
So we discussed matters until it was time for us to quit the college for the night, but, ere the time came for me to journey to England, there occurred so many other things of stirring import that here I must pause to narrate them in their due order, so that the narrative which I have to tell shall be clear and understandable.
CHAPTER IV
INTO THE LAND OF BONDAGE
Quin had made shift to lodge me in his poor room for the last day or so and, so great and kind was his heart, that he had now announced that, henceforth, until I was fairly on my way to London, he would not let me be without the shelter of his roof again.
"For," he said to me that night as we walked back to his abode, "be sure that the chase will be hot after you directly your uncle arrives in the packet. You are known to be once more at large and, consequently, dangerous to his claims, therefore he must put you out of his way somehow ere you can be seen by those who will swear to you as being the rightful Lord St. Amande."
"But," I asked him, for my mind had been forced of late to devise so many shifts that I had become, perhaps, sharper and more acute than other lads of my age. "But what if I were to appear at the Courts, or at the Office of the King-at-Arms, and, boldly stating who and what I am, with witnesses for testimony thereto, claim protection. Would it not be granted me?"
"Ay," replied Quin, thoughtfully. "I doubt not it would be granted thee, and thy uncle would be restrained for a time at least from falsely assuming that which is not his. But such a state of things would not last long. Before many weeks had elapsed you would again be missing, or perhaps not missing but, rather, found. Though I misdoubt me but what, when found, you would not be alive."
I shuddered at this terrifying prospect as he spoke, though too well I knew that what he said might very easily come to pass. O'Rourke had attempted to kill me once before and would do so again if he were paid for it; doubtless Considine would also take my life if he had but the slightest opportunity offered him, and there would be many more who, in such a city as Dublin, could be hired to assassinate me. For, poor and wretched as I was, and roaming about the streets as I did, how easily might I not fall a prey to my uncle's designs! On the other hand, if I could but reach England I must surely be in far greater safety. For though my mother was, as she wrote, in ill health, it was not possible to believe that the Marquis would not extend me his protection as his rightful heir against so wicked a wretch and knave as my uncle, nor that the law would not exert itself more strongly there on my behalf than here, where it was to almost every one's advantage to have me dead. It was the lawyers who had bought up our estates, my estates, from my father and uncle at so meagre a price, believing, or pretending to believe, that I was in truth dead; it was not therefore to their interests to have me alive, and to be forced to disgorge those estates. Thus I should get no help from them. Again, O'Rourke would, if he could be found, surely swear that the real Lord St. Amande was dead-since to obtain his reward and also to enable my father and uncle to get the money they wanted, he had in some way obtained a certificate of my death (I learned afterwards that he had palmed off the dead body of a boy resembling me, which had been found in the Liffey, as mine).
I agreed with Oliver, therefore, and also with Mr. Kinchella, whose counsel marched with that of my honest protector, that, at present, Dublin was no place for me and that I must make for London to be safe. Meanwhile I lay close in Quin's room until he should have found a cattle-boat that was passing over to Chester, by which route it was decided I should go, it being more expeditious and exposing me less to the disagreeables of the sea. This was arrived at by my two friends out of the goodness of their hearts, but, could they have foreseen what storms and tempests were yet to be my portion both by sea and land, I doubt if they would have thought it much worth their trouble to secure me from a few hours more or less of discomfort on this particular voyage.
But, at present, there was no such boat going, the cattle being sent over to Park Gate (where all freight for Chester was landed) only about once every two weeks, and thus, as I say, I lay close in Quin's room until such time as he should advise me to be ready for my departure.
During this time of idleness and waiting, there occurred, however, many other things in connection with me, of which I heard from Oliver whenever he came home at night. To wit, my uncle had arrived by the packet and had at once proceeded to notify to the whole city, both by his own and Considine's voice-whom he sent round to all the coffee-houses and ordinaries, as well as to the wine clubs and usquebaugh clubs-an errand I doubt not highly agreeable to that creature! – as well as by advertisement in the new newsletter entitled "Faulkner's Journal," which was just appearing, that my father had died childless and that he had consequently assumed the rank and style of Viscount St. Amande in the peerage of Ireland.
"Yet," said Oliver to me as I strolled by his side, for it was his custom to take me out a-walking for my health's sake at night after he returned home from his work; he holding me ever by the hand, while in the other he carried a heavy Kerry blackthorn stick, and had a pair of pistols in his pocket, "yet he succeeded not altogether to his satisfaction, nor will he succeed as well as he hopes. The people hiss and hoot at him and insult him as he passes by-Mike Finnigan flung a dead dog, which he had dragged out of the gutter, into his coach but yesterday-and they yell and howl at him to know where the real lord-that's you-is?"
Then
