as one of
self-interest. He paid me well, and for the sake of that pay, I had up
to this period been a faithful, diligent servant.

But what has all this to do with my temptation and fall? Much, oh, how
much; the conviction of the worthlessness of my master's character, and
the little loss his death would be to the community at large, drowned
all remorseful feelings on his behalf, and hastened me far on the road
to crime.

After having once indulged the idea that I could easily rob him, and
make myself master of the property he had on his person, I could not
again banish it from my mind. I quickened my pace, and recommenced
whistling a gay tune; but the stave suddenly ceased, and in fancy I was
confronting Mr. Carlos by that lonely avenue-gate. I rubbed my eyes to
shut out the horrid vision, and began slashing the thistles which grew
by the roadside, with my cane. Then I thought I saw him pale, and
weltering in his blood, at my feet; and I heard Bill Martin's fiendish
laugh and his prophecy respecting the gallows.

I stopped in the middle of the road, and looked hard at the dust. What a
terrible idea had that one thought of Bill Martin's conjured up. The
opportunity to gratify my long-treasured hatred--to avenge myself on my
enemy, was within my grasp!

That knife--I walked quickly on--I nearly ran, driven forward by the
excitement under which I laboured. Yes--that knife, with his name upon
the handle. If the deed were done adroitly, and with that knife, and I
could but contrive to send him to the spot a few minutes after the
murder had been committed, he would be the convicted felon, I the
possessor of wealth that might ultimately pave the way to fortune.

I was now near the village, and I saw a bosom friend of Martin's, with a
suspicious-looking dog lounging at his heels. I knew that anything said
to Adam Hows, would be sure to be retailed to his comrades, for with
Bill Martin I never held the least communication.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE PLOT.

"A fine day, Mister Game-keeper," quoth Adam, "prime weather for
shooting. Have you much company at the Hall?"

"No one at present. The Squire expects a large party the beginning of
the week."

"Is there much game this season?" asked the poacher, very _innocently_.

"There _was_," I replied, rather fiercely. "But these rascally poachers
are making it scarce. I only wish I had the ringleader of the gang
within the range of this gun."

"How savage you are, Cot