mpact with
the fiend.

"Good-night, Everope," said Michael, folding the note in his book.
"Recollect what I said about Morton."

The spendthrift closed his door, and returned to the table, and sat
down and played mechanically with the golden counters. Embarrassed as
he had often been, he had not yet learnt the ways and means of raising
money, and this was his initiation. Miserable man! Better for him had
it been to submit to any usury than, with his weak temper, to become
the debtor of Michael Sinson.

His vacillation was remarkably shown the following day. He rose at a
late hour, nervous and feverish, strangely troubled with an idea that
he had sold himself to be the instrument of some villany. He knew
nothing of the man who had furnished him with money. He could not even
tell where to find him. What were his designs with regard to Morton?
The little Everope had seen of the young student had won his respect.
Ought he not to tell him what had occurred? If he knew where to find
this Sinson, he would return the money.

It was dusk of the evening. He remembered that Morton would be
keeping Hilary Term. He did not belong to the Temple, but he lived
there. He went down into the cloisters and paced to and fro, waiting
till hall should be over. At length Randolph came out alone, and
Everope joined him abruptly.

"Morton," the spendthrift asked, in a low, husky voice, "were you ever
in want?"

The owner of Trevethlan Castle was amazed and affronted, but he said
nothing. Since the visit to the opera, every hour made him more
impatient of his disguise.

"I ask you were you ever in want?" repeated Everope, with some
fierceness. "I do not mean did you ever need a meal, or lack a coat;
but were you ever embarrassed? Were you ever afraid, or ashamed to
show your face? Did you ever tremble to think, not perhaps of
to-morrow, but of to-morrow month? Did you ever shudder at the thought
of disgrace? Have you any relatives whom you esteem and love? Whose
memory has been to some extent your guardian angel? who have begun to
pity and ceased to regard you? To whom you have done injustice? Ay,
hark in your ear,--did you ever think that to them your death would be
a relief?"

"Is the man mad?" Randolph asked himself, but said nothing aloud.

"I see," continued Everope, gloomily; "I see you are more fortunate.
You have no sympathy with a vaurien. My confidence is made in vain:
for if you cannot answer these questions, I can. You do