s mind; and after waiting, as it were, to
enjoy the confusion under which he suffered, said,--

"Just so, Phillis; it is a sad scrape you fell into. But when a man
becomes bankrupt either in fame or fortune, it is but loss of time to
bewail the past; the wiser course is to start in business again, and
make a character by a good dividend. Try that plan. Good-bye!"

These words were a command; and so Phillis understood them, as, with an
humble bow, he left the room. Linton again locked the door, and drawing
the table to a part of the room from which no eavesdropper at the
door could detect it, he once more sat down at it. His late scene
with Phillis had left no traces upon his memory; such events were too
insignificant to claim any notice beyond the few minutes they occupied;
his thoughts were now upon the greater game, where all his fortune in
life was staked. He took out the key, which he always wore round his
neck, and placed it in the lock; at the same instant the clock on the
chimney-piece struck ten. He sat still, listening to the strokes; and
when they ceased, he muttered, "Ay, mayhap cold enough ere this!" A
slight shuddering shook him as he uttered these words, and a dreamy
revery seemed to gather around him; but he arose, and walking to the
window, opened it. The fresh breeze of the night rallied him almost at
once, and he closed the sash and returned to his place.

"To think that I should hold within my hands the destinies of those whom
most of all the world I hate!" muttered he, as he turned the key and
threw back the lid. The box was empty! With a wild cry, like the accent
of intense bodily pain, he sprang up and dashed both hands into the
vacant space, and then held them up before his eyes, like one who could
not credit the evidence of his own senses. The moment was a terrible
one, and for a few seconds the staring eyeballs and quivering lips
seemed to threaten the access of a fit; but reason at last assumed the
mastery, and he sat down before the table and leaned his head upon it to
think. Twice before in life had it been his lot to lose a fortune at
one turn of the die, but never before had he staked all the revengeful
feelings of his bad heart, which, baffled in their flow, now came back
upon himself.

He sat thus for nigh an hour; and when he arose at last, his features
were worn as though by a long illness; and as he moved his fingers
through his hair, it came away in masses, like that of a man after