born not of fear but of hatred— spread itself
slowly over William Trefalden's countenance,
and there remained. No other sign betrayed
the tumult within. Haughty as an Indian at
the stake, he folded his arms, and met his
cousin's eye unflinchingly.

Thus they stood for a second or two, both
silent. Then Mr. Guthrie came in from the
ante-room, shut the folding-doors, and took his
seat at the table; while Saxon resumed his
former place, and, pointing to a chair standing
apart from the rest, said:

"Please to sit there, William Trefalden."

The lawyer, with a sharp glance of recognition
at the clergyman, flung himself into the chair.

"May I ask what this means?" he said,
contemptuously. "An amateur Star Chamber?"

"It means justice and retribution," replied
Saxon, sternly.

Mr. Trefalden smiled, leaned back in his chair,
and waited for what should come next. He
knew that all was over. He knew that his fairy
gold had turned to withered leaves, and that the
paradise of his dreams had suddenly vanished
away, leaving in its place only the endless desert
and the burning sands. He knew that the
edifice which he had been rearing month after
month with such consummate skill, was
shattered to dust—that the die on which he had
staked reputation, country, personal safety, and
his whole worldly future, had turned up a blank
at the very moment when he believed the prize
his own. He knew that Helen Rivière would
never, never now be wife of his; would never
grace his home and gladden his heart with her
smiles; never learn to give him love for love, in
all the weary years that were to come! He
knew that from this time forth he was a marked
man, a branded felon, dependent on the mercy
of the kinsman whom he had betrayed; and
yet, knowing all this, his self-command never
wavered, his eye never quailed, his voice never
faltered for an instant. He was desperate;
but his pride and his courage were at least equal
to his despair.

Saxon, sitting at the head of the table with his
head leaning on his hand, looked down for some
moments in silence.

"I have not much to say to you, William
Trefalden," he began presently; " and what little I
have to say must be said briefly. To reproach
one who could act as you have acted would be
idle. If you had any heart to be touched, any
sense of honour to be awakened, neither you nor
I would be sitting here to-night."

Still smiling scornfully, the lawyer listened,
apparently with the greatest indifference.

"To keep, then, to plain facts," continued the
young man, " you have defrauded me of two
millions of money; you have that money in your
possession; you are at this moment my prisoner;
and I have but to call in the aid of the village
police, and convey you to Bordeaux in the
carriage which now waits below for that purpose.
Such is your position, and such is mine. But I
am unwilling to push matters to extremity. I
am unwilling to attach public scandal to the
name which you are the first of our family to
disgrace. For my uncle's sake and my own, and
from respect to the memory of many generations
of honest men, I have decided to offer you a fair
alternative."

He paused and referred to a slip of paper lying
beside him on the table.

"In the first place," he continued, "I require
you to restore the money of which you have
robbed me. In the second place, you must sign a
full confession of your guilt, both as regards the
two millions stolen from myself, and the twenty-five
thousand pounds of which you have
defrauded the Earl of Castletowers. In the third
place, you must betake yourself to America, and
never again be seen on this side the Atlantic. If
you agree to these conditions, I consent to screen
you from the law, and will give you the sum of
one thousand pounds to help you forward honestly
in the new life before you."

"And supposing that I decline the
conditions," said Mr. Trefalden, calmly. "What
then?"

"Then I simply ring this bell, and the boy
who just now opened the gates to you will at
once summon a couple of sergents de ville from
the village."

The lawyer only elevated his eyebrows in the
least perceptible degree.

"Your decision, if you please."

"My decision?" replied Mr. Trefalden, with
as much apparent indifference as if the subject
under consideration were the binding of a book
or the framing of a picture. " Well— it appears
to me that I am allowed no freedom of choice."

"Am I to understand that you accept my
conditions?"

"I suppose so."

"Where, then, is the money?"

"In the adjoining room. You have but to take
possession of it."

Mr. Guthrie rose, fetched the carpet-bag, and
placed it on the table.

"Your keys, if you please."

William Trefalden produced three small keys
on a ring, and handed them to the clergyman.

"You will find the money excellently invested,"
he said, looking on with unruffled composure
while the bag, the deed-box, and the cash-box
were successively opened. The contents of the
last were then turned out upon the table, and
Mr. Guthrie, with a view to ascertaining whether
the whole sum was actually there represented,
proceeded to examine each item separately. But
he found, after a very few minutes, that the
attempt was fruitless. The notes and specie offered
no difficulties, but of notes and specie there was,
comparatively, but a small proportion, while the
bulk of the booty consisted of securities of the
value of which he could form no opinion, and
precious stones which it would have needed a
lapidary's knowledge to appraise.

"I confess," he said, " that I am wholly