After troublous wanderings, on
which he was accompanied by his daughter, faithful and devoted, though she
had her doubts on a certain subject, the decayed publican at length found a
place of rest. A small legacy from a relative had put it in his power to
make a new, though humble, beginning in business; he established himself at
the Pig and Whistle.
The condition in which he had to-day been discovered by Mr. Ruddiman was
not habitual with him. Once a month, perhaps, his melancholy thoughts drove
him to the bottle; for the most part he led a sullen, brooding life,
indifferent to the state of his affairs, and only animated when he found a
new and appreciative listener to the story of his wrongs. That he had been
grievously wronged was Mr. Fouracres' immutable conviction. Not by His
Royal Highness; the Prince knew nothing of the strange conspiracy which had
resulted in Fouracres' ruin; letters addressed to His Royal Highness were
evidently intercepted by underlings, and never came before the royal eyes.
Again and again had Mr. Fouracres written long statements of his case, and
petitioned for an audience. He was now resolved to adopt other methods; he
would use the first opportunity of approaching the Prince's person, and
lifting up his voice where he could not but be heard.
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