erly. The Chevalier, by a
powerful effort, recovered his accustomed assurance and presence of
mind.

"Come, my good sir," said he--"don't get in such a bad way about a few
insignificant letters which are stamped upon me. I pledge you my honor
'twas merely done in jest, in a thoughtless moment. Pray retire, and
leave me to console my bride for her silly fright."

"Liar and villain!" cried the old man--"would'st thou, with a red-hot
iron, brand such words as _those_ upon thee, in jest? Thou are a
convicted scoundrel--an impostor--a murderer, for aught I know. Thou
hast no claim upon my poor girl, who now lies there, insensible; the
marriage is null and void!"

"Pooh--nonsense!" said the Chevalier, very coolly--"you make a devil of
a fuss about a very small matter. This brand is but the consequence of a
youthful folly--crime, if you will--of which I have long since repented,
I assure you. A ruffled shirt will always conceal it from the world's
prying gaze; your daughter and yourself are the only persons who will
ever know of its existence; why, then, should it interfere with our
matrimonial arrangements?"

"Dare you parley with me, villain?" cried Mr. Goldworthy, growing more
and more indignant at the other's impudent assurance. "Hark'ee, sir," he
continued, "the mystery which has always surrounded you, has been
anything but favorable to your reputation, for _honest_ men are seldom
reluctant to disclose all that concerns their past career and present
pursuits. But your damnable effrontery, and the accursed fascination of
your manners, overcame all our suspicions relative to you; you were
regarded as an honorable man, and a gentleman. Unfortunately, my Alice
loved you, and in an evil moment I consented to your union. This
evening, at the wine table, when you discoursed so learnedly and
eloquently upon the exploits of daring villains, the thought struck me
that you must have derived your knowledge of them from personal
intimacy; but I instantly discarded the suspicion as unworthy of myself
and unjust to you. But now--now your guilt can no longer be questioned,
for its history is written there, upon your breast! Scoundrel, I might
hand you over to the iron grasp of the law, but I will not; resume your
garments, and leave this chamber--for your vile presence contaminates
the very atmosphere, and 'tis no place for you!"

"No, you will not hand me over to the law, neither will you expose me,"
said the Chevalier, his lip cu