throw the charge of the murder upon George
Dallas ; but she might render his position
extremely perilous if she did not second him.
What reason had he to fear ? The estrangement
between them had been growing wider, it
was true, but it had not been exclusively of his
making ; she had held aloof from him as much
as he from her, and he acknowledged that, if
no infidelity had existed upon his part, it would
still have taken place. From the moment they
ceased to be comrades in expedients, and became
accomplices in crime, the consequences made
themselves felt. Routh did not believe in blessings
or in curses, but he did not dispute the
inevitable result of two persons finding out the
full extent of each other's wickedness ? that,
those two persons, if obliged to live together,
will find it rather uncomfortable. The worst
accomplice a man can have is his wife, he had
often thought; women always have some
scruple lurking somewhere about them, a
hankering after the ideal, for the possibility of
respecting a man in some degree. When he
had been forced to see and to believe in the
intensity of his wife's silent sufferings, it had
occurred to him more than once to think, " she
would not be so miserable if she had done it
herself; she would have been much jollier.
Nothing ever will cure some women of
sentiment."

Did it ever occur to him that it had not been
worth his while to do what he had done? that,
on the whole, it had not paid? No, never.
Routh had been angry with Harriet when the
matter had been brought up between them, had
complained that it was always " cropping up;"
but the truth was, he thought of it himself,
much more frequently than it was impressed on
him by any allusion from without; and he
never ceased to remind himself that the deed
had been necessary, indispensable. It had
brought him money, when money must have
been had, or all must have ended for him; it
had brought him money when money meant a
clearing and brightening of his sky, an utter
change in his life, the cessation of a hazardous
and ignoble warfare, the restoration to a peaceful
and comparatively safe career. He was in
a difficult position now, it was true — a position
in which there was peril to be surmounted only
by dauntlessness, prudence, and coolness; but
he was dauntless, prudent, and cool. Had all
this never been, what might have been his
position? When Deane and he had met, his luck
had been almost at its lowest; and, in the
comradeship which had ensued, there had always
been burning anger and intense humiliation on
Routh's part, and cold, sneering, heartless,
boasting on Deane's. Routh was the cleverer
man of the two, and incomparably the greater
villain; but Deane had elements of rascality in
him which even Routh had felt himself entitled
to despise. And he had hated him. Routh,
in his cool manner of thinking things over, had
not failed to take this feeling into due account.
He would not have killed Deane only because he
hated him; he was too true to his principles to
incur so tremendous a risk for the simple
gratification of even the worst sentiment, of even
sentiment intensified into a passion, but he
allowed it sufficient weight and influence
effectually to bar the entrance, of a regret when the
larger object had also been attained. He had
no pity for his victim, not even the physical
sensation which is experienced by men whose
organisation and associations are not of the
brutal kind, when temper, circumstances, or
sudden temptation have impelled them to deeds
of cruelty ; he had hated Deane too much for
that. He never thought of the crime he had
committed without dwelling on the conduct
which had made him resolve upon it. How the
man had played with his necessities, had tricked
him with compromising confidences, had
duped him with false promises, had led him to
the very brink of the abyss, and there had
struggled with him — with him, a desperate
man ! Fool — fool ! one must go over the brink,
then ; and who should it be but the weaker ? who
should hold his ground but the stronger — but
he who had everything to gain ? He thought
over all those things again to-day, methodically,
arranging the circumstances as they had
occurred in his mind. He recalled the hours of
suspense through which he had lived on that
day when Deane had promised to bring him a
sum of money, representing his own interest in
the mining company, which sum was to secure
to Routh the position he had striven hard to
attain, and rescue him from the consequences
of a fraudulent transfer of shares which he had
already effected. It had come to a question of
hours, and the impatience and suspense had
almost worn out Routh's strong nerves, almost
deprived him of his self-command. How well
he remembered it ; how he lived through all that
time again. It had never been so vivid in his
remembrance, with all the vitality of hate and
anger, often as he had thought of it, as it was
to-day.

The heartless trifling, the petty insolence of
the rich rascal, who little guessed the strength
and resolution, the daring and desperation, of the
greater, if worse, villain, came back as freshly to
Stewart Routh's vindictive memory as if he had
not had his ghastly revenge and his miserable
triumph months ago, as if he had suffered and
winced under them but yesterday. And that
yesterday! What a glorious day in his life it had
been! Presently he would think about that, and
nothing but that; but now he must pursue his
task of memory to the end. For he was not
his own master in this. Once set to thinking
of it, to living it all over again, he had no power
to abridge the history.

He had to remember the hours during which
he had waited for Deane's coming, for the
payment of the promised money; he had to
remember how they waned, and left him sick with
disappointment, maddened with apprehension;
how he had determined he would keep the second
appointment with Deane: he did not fear his
failing in that, because it was for his own
pleasure; and then, for the first time in his