still at Richmond, and engaged in the
transaction of a very important little piece
of business.

                         CHAPTER IV.

IN the city of Richmond, Virginia, United
States, and in a back street of a certain
quarter of that town which was not very
well reputed, there existed a certain
gambling-house which was very ill reputed. As
it is fortunately possible for the reader of
this veracious history to enter that house
without losing either his character or his
purse, he is hereby invited to do so, and
to grope his way, as best he can, up a
dark and greasy staircase till he reaches
the third landing, where, in a small room
to which "strangers are not admitted,"
he will find Mr. Philip S. Cartwright
in close conversation with a Mexican
gentleman lately arrived in Richmond.
This Mexican gentleman is of such modest
and retiring habits, that although he has
been resident about three weeks in the
capital of Virginia, and is a gentleman
of striking appearance and varied
accomplishments, he is as yet unknown to any of
the inhabitants of that city, with the
exception of two or three enterprising spirits
who are interested in the fortunes of the
establishment which he has honoured by
selecting as his temporary place of abode.
Perhaps, also, the name of this interesting
foreigner (which figures on his visiting-cards
as Don Ramon Cabrera y Castro)
may be not altogether unknown to some
professional students of character whose
researches are recorded in the secret archives
of the Richmond Police. But, if this be so,
neither he nor they have as yet taken any
steps towards increasing their acquaintance
with each other. To the select few who
have been privileged to hold unrestricted
personal intercourse with Don Ramon
during his short residence at Richmond, he
is familiarly known as the Don. He is a
gentleman of polished manners and polished
nails; an epicurean philosopher, who takes
the evil with the good of life cheerfully and
calmly. By the side of the don, even the
descendant of the cavaliers looks coarse
and underbred.

"I tell you," said Cartwright, "it was
all no use. You must get up early if you
want to catch a Yankee napping. He would
have nothing to do with it. Said it wasn't
in his line of business. Bref, that cock
wouldn't fight, sir."

"Just so," said the don, without looking
up from the occupation in which he was
then absorbed, for he was paring his nails.
They were very polished, very pink, and
very spiky nails. "You failed, in short,
my dear friend."

"Not my fault," replied Cartwright: "I
did what I could."

"Of course," said the don; "and Don
Filippo can't do more than a man can
do. You did what you could, but you
couldn't dispose of the notes. Just so.
Where are they?"

"Here," said Cartwright, "and you'll
find them all right." He pushed a little
black box across the table, which seemed to
be common property of the two gentlemen,
for the don took a small key from his own
pocket, opened the box, and taking from it
a bundle of bank-notes, held up one of them
against the candle (making a transparency
of it), and contemplated it with a tender,
musing, and melancholy eye.

"They are beautifully made," he
murmured, softly; "just look at the water-mark,
mi querido Don Filippo. A masterpiece
of art!"

"Yes," said Cartwright, "they couldn't
beat that in New York."

"Not in all the world — not in heaven
itself!" sighed, the don, with that subdued
voice expressive of sensuous oppression
which is inspired by the contemplation of
any perfectly beautiful object.

"But I reckon you'd better not drop 'em
about Richmond," said Cartwright.

"You think so?" responded the don,
musingly; "you really think so?"

"Our people are too sharp now. They
were caught once, but I take it they won't
be caught twice."

"Caught once?"

"Out and out. Two years ago. By
a Quaker chap travelling down South for
the propagation of Christian knowledge,
and various little manufactured articles of
your sort."

"Then it's no use my staying here?" said
the don.

"Don't think it is," said Cartwright.

"And I think you'd better pay my bill
before I leave, my dear friend."

"I'll do what I promised," said
Cartwright.

"You really think, then," said the don,
"that there is no opening for investment
at Richmond?"

"That's a fact," said Cartwright

"But you forget." resumed his
companion, "that if I did invest any portion of
this little capital for the benefit of your
city, sir, and if that benevolent speculation
unhappily failed, I at least should be spared