blow your
brains out against the wall. I have a notion now, however, to turn you
to some use instead, so I'll just spare your life for a little while,
till I see how you behave."

He spoke with so much more of jocularity than he had heretofore used
that Dunburne recovered in great part his dawning assurance. "I am
infinitely obliged to you," he cried, "for sparing my brains; but I
protest I doubt if you will ever find so good an opportunity again to
murder me as you have just enjoyed."

This speech seemed to tickle the other prodigiously, for he burst into
a loud and boisterous laugh, under cover of which he thrust his pistol
back into his coat-pocket again. "Come with me, and I'll fit you with
victuals and decent clothes, of both of which you appear to stand in no
little need," he said. Thereupon, and without another word, he turned
and quitted the place, accompanied by his companion, who for all this
time had uttered not a single sound. A little way from the church these
two parted company, with only a brief word spoken between them.

Dunburne's interlocutor, with our young gentleman following close
behind him, led the way in silence for a considerable distance through
the long, wet grass and the tempestuous darkness, until at last, still
in unbroken silence, they reached the confines of an enclosure, and
presently stood before a large and imposing house built of brick.

Dunburne's mysterious guide, still carrying the lantern, conducted him
directly up a broad flight of steps, and opening the door, ushered him
into a hallway of no inconsiderable pretensions. Thence he led the way
to a dining-room beyond, where our young gentleman observed a long
mahogany table, and a sideboard of carved mahogany illuminated by three
or four candles. In answer to the call of his conductor, a negro
servant appeared, whom the master of the house ordered to fetch some
bread and cheese and a bottle of rum for his wretched guest. While the
servant was gone to execute the commission the master seated himself at
his ease and favored Dunburne with a long and most minute regard. Then
he suddenly asked our young gentleman what was his name.

Upon the instant Dunburne did not offer a reply to this interrogation.
He had been so miserably abused when he had told the truth upon the
voyage that he knew not now whether to confess or deny his identity. He
possessed no great aptitude at lying, so that it was with no little
hesitation that he deter