ntents, were seen, some of which lay
in disordered masses upon the floor, some in charred heaps within the
fender. As the light fell upon his features, Cashel remarked that
they were lividly pale,--the very lips were colorless; his hands,
too, trembled violently as they moved among the papers, and his mouth
continued to be moved by short convulsive twitches. To Roland these
signs of suffering conveyed a perfect ecstasy of pleasure. That
careworn, haggard face, that tremulous cheek and lustreless eye, were
already an instalment of his vengeance.

There was one box which contained many of Cashel's early letters, when
he was following the wild buccaneering life of the West; and this,
secured by a lock of peculiar construction, Linton had never succeeded
in opening. It stood before him, as with a last effort he tried every
art upon it. The hinges alone seemed to offer a prospect of success, and
he was now endeavoring to remove the fastenings of these. With more
of force than skill, for defeat had rendered him impatient, Linton
had already loosened the lid, when Cashel burst open the sash with one
vigorous blow, and leaped into the room.

The terrible crash of the shattered window made Linton spring round; and
there he stood, confronted with the other,--each, motionless and silent.
In Cashel's steady, manly form there was a very world of indignant
contempt; and Linton met the gaze with a look of deadly hatred. All the
dissimulation by which he could cover over a treachery was at an end;
his deceit was no longer of use, and he stood forth in the full courage
of his scoundrelism,--bold, steady, and assured.

"This admits of no excuse, no palliation," said Cashel, as he pointed
to the open letters and papers which covered the floor; and although the
words were uttered calmly, they were more disconcerting than if given
with passionate vehemence.

"I never thought of any," replied Linton, collectedly.

"So much the better, sir. It seems to me frankness is the only
reparation you can make for past infamy!"

"It may be the only one you will be disposed to ask for," said Linton,
sneeringly.

Cashel grew fiery red. To taunt him with want of courage was something
so unexpected--for which he was so totally unprepared--that he lost his
self-possession, and in a passionate tone exclaimed,--

"Is it _you_ who dare to say this to _me_--you, whose infamy has
need but to be published abroad, to make every one who calls himself
'gen