as
been tremendous, and has done a good deal of damage, I fear, to your
house and premises, Mr. Brown. I heard the slates falling about in great
numbers; and the inmates of the house were, as far as I could judge,
exceedingly alarmed."

"It was a dreadful night in more senses than one," replied Mr. Brown.

"By the by," said Reilly, "was there not a fire somewhere in the
neighborhood, I observed through the windows a strong light flickering
and vibrating, as it were, over the whole country. What must it have
been?"

"My dear Reilly," replied Mr. Brown, "be calm; your house and premises
are, at this moment, one dark heap of smouldering ruins."

"Oh, yes--I understand," replied Reilly--"Sir Robert Whitecraft."

"Sir Robert Whitecraft," replied Mr. Brown; "it is too true, Reilly--you
are now houseless and homeless; and may God forgive him!"

Reilly got up and paced the room several times, then sat down, and
filling himself a glass of wine, drank it off; then looking at each of
them, said, in a voice rendered hoarse by the indignation and resentment
which he felt himself compelled, out of respect for his kind friends, to
restrain, "Gentlemen," he repeated, "what do _you_ call this"

"Malice--persecution--vengeance," replied Mr. Brown, whose resentment
was scarcely less than that of Reilly himself. "In the presence of
God, and before all the world. I would pronounce it one of the most
diabolical acts ever committed in the history of civil society. But you
have one consolation, Reilly; your money and papers are safe."

"It is not that," replied Reilly; "I think not of them. It is the
vindictive and persecuting spirit of that man--that monster--and the
personal motives from which he acts, that torture me, and that plant in
my heart a principle of vengeance more fearful than his. But you do not
understand me, gentlemen; I could smile at all he has done to myself
yet. It is of the serpent-tooth which will destroy the peace of others,
that I think. All these motives being considered, what do you think that
man deserves at my hand?"

"My dear Reilly," said the clergyman, "recollect that there is a
Providence; and that we cannot assume to ourselves the disposition
of His judgments, or the knowledge of His wisdom. Have patience. Your
situation is one of great distress and almost unexampled difficulty. At
all events, you are, for the present, safe under this roof; and although
I grant you have much to suffer, still you have