for ceaseless mischief. There is not
a friend of mine he can get hold of, but he whispered in his ear some
damned slander of me. He is drawing them all into a common understanding
against me; and he takes an actual pleasure in telling me how the thing
goes on--how, one after the other, he has converted my friends into
conspirators and libelers, to blast my character, and take my life, and
now the monster essays to lure my children into the hellish
confederation."

"Who is he, father, who is he?" faltered Rhoda.

"You never saw him," retorted Marston, sternly.

"No, no; you can't have seen him, and you probably never will; but if he
does come here again, don't listen to him. He is half-fiend and
half-idiot, and no good comes of his mouthing and muttering. Avoid him, I
warn you, avoid him. Let me see: how shall I describe him? Let me see.
You remember--you remember Berkley--Sir Wynston Berkley. Well, he greatly
resembles that dead villain: he has all the same grins, and shrugs, and
monkey airs, and his face and figure are like. But he is a grimed,
ragged, wasted piece of sin, little better than a beggar--a shrunken,
malignant libel on the human shape. Avoid him, I tell you, avoid him: he
is steeped in lies and poison, like the very serpent that betrayed us.
Beware of him, I say, for if he once gains your ear, he will delude you,
spite of all your vigilance; he will make you his accomplice, and
thenceforth, inevitably, there is nothing but mortal and implacable
hatred between us!"

Frightened at this wild language, Rhoda did not answer, but looked up in
his face in silence. A fearful transformation was there--a scowl so livid
and maniacal, that her very senses seemed leaving her with terror.
Perhaps the sudden alteration observable in her countenance, as this
spectacle so unexpectedly encountered her, recalled him to himself; for
he added, hurriedly, and in a tone of gentler meaning--

"Rhoda, Rhoda, watch and pray. My daughter, my child! keep your heart
pure, and nothing bad can approach you for ill. No, no; you are good, and
the good need not fear!"

Suddenly Marston burst into tears, as he ended this sentence, and
wept long and convulsively. She did not dare to speak, or even to
move; but after a while he ceased, appeared uneasy, half ashamed and
half angry; and looking with a horrified and bewildered glance into
her face, he said--

"Rhoda, child, what--what have I said? My God! what have I been saying?
Did I-