Easy was the carriage--swift were the steeds--and luxuriously the wealthy man was whirled along.

Not a suspicion of the true cause of Arthur's detention crossed him; but he thought of the snares of London--or artful females in distress; "a melancholy adventure" generally implies love for the adventure, and money for the melancholy; and Arthur was young--generous--with a heart and a pocket equally open to imposition.
Such scrapes, however, do not terrify a father when he is a man of the world, so much as they do an anxious mother; and, with more curiosity than alarm, Mr.Beaufort, after a short doze, found himself before the shop indicated.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the door to the private entrance was ajar,--a circumstance which seemed very suspicious to Mr.
Beaufort.

He pushed it open with caution and timidity--a candle placed upon a chair in the narrow passage threw a sickly light over the flight of stairs, till swallowed up by the deep shadow from the sharp angle made by the ascent.

Robert Beaufort stood a moment in some doubt whether to call, to knock, to recede, or to advance, when a step was heard upon the stairs above--it came nearer and nearer--a figure emerged from the shadow of the last landing-place, and Mr.Beaufort, to his great joy, recognised his son.
Arthur did not, however, seem to perceive his father; and was about to pass him, when Mr.Beaufort laid his hand on his arm.
"What means all this, Arthur?
What place are you in?
How you have alarmed us!" Arthur cast a look upon his father of sadness and reproach.
"Father," he said, in a tone that sounded stern--almost commanding--"I will show you where I have been; follow me--nay, I say, follow." He turned, without another word re-ascended the stairs; and Mr.
Beaufort, surprised and awed into mechanical obedience, did as his son desired.

At the landing-place of the second floor, another long-wicked, neglected, ghastly candle emitted its cheerless ray.