Man's fate is in his own hands. ’ The door opened and Saling entered again. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. Beyond that everything was nebulous. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted.
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