I clapped him on the shoulder as I spoke. His face had been half

averted from me while I was speaking; but now it turned upon me,

and his glance met mine, teeming with inquisitive horror.

"No! no! you are not right!" he faltered out; "it is not so.

Nothing is the matter with me! I am quite well--quite! I will see

my father, and set him right."

"Do so," I said, coolly and indifferently--"do so; tell him what you

please: but you can't change my conviction that you're after some

pretty woman, and probably poaching on some neighbor's territory.

Come, make me your confidante, Edgerton. Let us know the history

of your misfortune. Is the lady pliant? I should judge so, since

you continue to spend so many nights away from home. Come, make a

clean breast of it. Out with your secret! I have always been your

friend. WE COULD NOT BETRAY EACH OTHER, I THINK!"

"You are quite mistaken," he said, with the effort of one who is

half strangled. "There is nothing in it; I assure you, you were

never more mistaken."

"Pshaw, Edgerton! you may blind papa, but you can not blind me.

Keep your secret, if you please, but, if you provoke me, I will

trace it out; I will unkennel you. If I do not show the sitting

hare in a fortnight, by the course of the hunter, tell me I am none

myself."

His consternation increased, but I did not allow it to disarm me. I

probed him keenly, and in such a manner as to make him wince with

apprehension at every word which I uttered. Morally, William Edgerton

was a brave man. Guilt alone made him a coward. It actually gave

me pain, after a while, to behold his wretched imbecility. He hung

upon my utterance with the trembling suspense of one whose eye has

become enchained with the fascinating gaze of the serpent. I put

my questions and comments home to him, on the assumption that he

was playing the traitor with another's wife; though taking care,

all the while, that my manner should be that of one who has no sort

of apprehensions on his own score. My deportment and tone tallied

well with the practised indifference which had distinguished my

previous overt conduct. It deceived him on that head; but the truth,

like a sharp knife, was no less keen in penetrating to his soul;

and, preserving my coolness and directness, with that singular

tenacity of purpose which I could maintain in spite of my own

sufferings--and keep them still unsuspected--I did not scruple to

impel the sharp iron into every sensitive place within his bosom.

He writhed visibly before me. His struggles did not please me, but

I sought to produce them simply because they seemed so many proofs

confirming the truth of my conjectures. The fiend in my own soul

kept whispering, "He has it!"--and a fatal spell, not unlike that

which riveted his attention to the language which tore and vexed

him, urged me to continue it until at length the sting became too

keen for his endurance. In very desperation, he broke away from

the fetters of that fascination of terror which had held him for

one mortal hour to the spot.




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