“And as good as handsome,” answered Riah.

“At all events,” observed Fledgeby, with a dry whistle, “I hope she ain’t bad enough to put any chap up to the fastenings, and get the premises broken open. You look out. Keep your weather eye awake and don’t make any more acquaintances, however handsome. Of course you always keep my name to yourself?”

“Sir, assuredly I do.”

“If they ask it, say it’s Pubsey, or say it’s Co, or say it’s anything you like, but what it is.”

His grateful servant — in whose race gratitude is deep, strong, and enduring — bowed his head, and actually did now put the hem of his coat to his lips: though so lightly that the wearer knew nothing of it.

Thus, Fascination Fledgeby went his way, exulting in the artful cleverness with which he had turned his thumb down on a Jew, and the old man went his different way up-stairs. As he mounted, the call or song began to sound in his ears again, and, looking above, he saw the face of the little creature looking down out of a Glory of her long bright radiant hair, and musically repeating to him, like a vision:

“Come up and be dead! Come up and be dead!”