"We will, at this lady's pleasure," said Dr. Vaudelier.
"Hell! would you trifle with me?" roared Jaspar, rising in a passion. "Would you turn me out of my house?"
"Never yours, Mr. Dumont! Heaven has restored the innocent and oppressed to her rights," answered Mr. Faxon, calmly.
"Uncle," said Emily, earnestly, "let me entreat you to lay aside the terrible aspect you have worn, and be again even as you once were. The past shall be forgotten, and I will strive to make the future happy."
Jaspar gazed at her with a vacant stare, and, muttering some unintelligible words, sunk back into his chair, and buried his face beneath his hands. The consciousness of the utter failure of the plan he had cherished for years, and the terrible obloquy to which his crime subjected him, rushed like an earthquake into his mind. He was completely subdued in spirit, and groaned in his anguish.
"The way of the transgressor is hard," remarked Mr. Faxon, in pitying tones.
These words were heard by Jaspar. They touched his pride. He could not endure the notes of pity. He raised his head, and his eyes glared with the fury of a demon.
"Leave the house, sir!" gasped he, choking with passion. "Leave my house, or I will tear you limb from limb! I can do it, and I _dare_ do it!" and he started suddenly to the floor. "Yes, I _dare_ do it, if you mock me with your canting words!"
His eyes rolled like a maniac's, and he gasped for breath, as he continued,
"I am a murderer already!--a double murderer! Dalhousie and his wife have felt my vengeance. They have starved like dogs! Their prison is their tomb!"
"Compose yourself, Mr. Dumont," said Mr. Faxon; "your soul is still free from the heavy burden of such a guilt. Dalhousie and his wife live."
"You lie, canting hypocrite! No mortal arm can save them. They have been eight days in my slave jail. Here are the keys," gasped Jaspar, drawing them from his pocket.
"You shall see; I will call them," said Mr. Faxon.
Dalhousie and his wife, followed by Uncle Nathan and Pat Fegan, entered the room.
Jaspar fixed his glaring eyes upon those whom he supposed were rotting within the precincts of his Inquisition. His power of speech seemed to have deserted him, and he shook all over like an aspen-leaf.
