eme has danger: that you can dare!"

Glendower was still silent; but his set and stern countenance was
sufficient reply. "Some sacrifice of your pride," continued Crauford:
"that also you can bear?" and the tempter almost grinned with pleasure
as he asked the question.

"He who is poor," said Glendower, speaking at last, "has a right to
pride. He who starves has it too; but he who sees those whom he loves
famish, and cannot aid, has it not!"

"Come home with me, then," said Crauford; "you seem faint and weak:
nature craves food; come and partake of mine; we will then talk over
this scheme, and arrange its completion."

"I cannot," answered Glendower, quietly. "And why?"

"Because they starve at home!"

"Heavens!" said Crauford, affected for a moment into sincerity; "it is
indeed fortunate that business should have led me here: but meanwhile
you will not refuse this trifle,--as a loan merely. By and by our scheme
will make you so rich that I must be the borrower."

Glendower did hesitate for a moment; he did swallow a bitter rising of
the heart: but he thought of those at home and the struggle was over.

"I thank you," said he; "I thank you for their sake: the time may
come,"--and the proud gentleman stopped short, for his desolate fortunes
rose before him and forbade all hope of the future.

"Yes!" cried Crauford, "the time may come when you will repay me this
money a hundredfold. But where do you live? You are silent. Well, you
will not inform me: I understand you. Meet me, then, here, on this very
spot, three nights hence: you will not fail?"

"I will not," said Glendower; and pressing Crauford's hand with a
generous and grateful warmth, which might have softened a heart less
obdurate, he turned away.

Folding his arms, while a bitter yet joyous expression crossed his
countenance, Crauford stood still, gazing upon the retreating form of
the noble and unfortunate man whom he had marked for destruction.

"Now," said he, "this virtue is a fine thing, a very fine thing to
talk so loftily about. A little craving of the gastric juices, a little
pinching of this vile body, as your philosophers and saints call our
better part, and, lo! virtue oozes out like water through a leaky
vessel,--and the vessel sinks! No, no; virtue is a weak game, and a
poor game, and a losing game. Why, there is that man, the very pink of
integrity and rectitude, he is now only wanting temptation to fall; and
he will fall, in a fine ph