cast a glance at his enemy. He tasted his neighbourhood, I must
suppose, less indirectly in the bare proximity of person; and, without
doubt, drank deep of hateful pleasures.

He had no sooner come away than I openly joined him.

"My lord, my lord," said I, "this is no manner of behaviour."

"I grow fat upon it," he replied: and not merely the words, which were
strange enough, but the whole character of his expression, shocked me.

"I warn you, my lord, against this indulgency of evil feeling," said I.
"I know not to which it is more perilous, the soul or the reason; but
you go the way to murder both."

"You cannot understand," said he. "You had never such mountains of
bitterness upon your heart."

"And if it were no more," I added, "you will surely goad the man to some
extremity."

"To the contrary; I am breaking his spirit," says my lord.

Every morning for hard upon a week my lord took his same place upon the
bench. It was a pleasant place, under the green acacias, with a sight
upon the bay and shipping, and a sound (from some way off) of mariners
singing at their employ. Here the two sate without speech or any
external movement, beyond that of the needle, or the Master biting off a
thread, for he still clung to his pretence of industry; and here I made
a point to join them, wondering at myself and my companions. If any of
my lord's friends went by, he would hail them cheerfully, and cry out he
was there to give some good advice to his brother, who was now (to his
delight) grown quite industrious. And even this the Master accepted with
a steady countenance; what was in his mind, God knows, or perhaps Satan
only.

All of a sudden, on a still day of what they call the Indian Summer,
when the woods were changed into gold and pink and scarlet, the Master
laid down his needle and burst into a fit of merriment. I think he must
have been preparing it a long while in silence, for the note in itself
was pretty naturally pitched; but breaking suddenly from so extreme a
silence, and in circumstances so averse from mirth, it sounded ominously
on my ear.

"Henry," said he, "I have for once made a false step, and for once you
have had the wit to profit by it. The farce of the cobbler ends to-day;
and I confess to you (with my compliments) that you have had the best of
it. Blood will out; and you have certainly a choice idea of how to make
yourself unpleasant."

Never a word said my lord; it was just as though the Mas