you see,' said Mr Haredale, 'those walls. You see those tottering
gables. You see on every side where fire and smoke have raged. You see
the destruction that has been wanton here. Do you not?'

'My good friend,' returned the knight, gently checking his impatience
with his hand, 'of course I do. I see everything you speak of, when you
stand aside, and do not interpose yourself between the view and me. I
am very sorry for you. If I had not had the pleasure to meet you here,
I think I should have written to tell you so. But you don't bear it as
well as I had expected--excuse me--no, you don't indeed.'

He pulled out his snuff-box, and addressing him with the superior air of
a man who, by reason of his higher nature, has a right to read a moral
lesson to another, continued:

'For you are a philosopher, you know--one of that stern and rigid school
who are far above the weaknesses of mankind in general. You are removed,
a long way, from the frailties of the crowd. You contemplate them from a
height, and rail at them with a most impressive bitterness. I have heard
you.'

--'And shall again,' said Mr Haredale.

'Thank you,' returned the other. 'Shall we walk as we talk? The damp
falls rather heavily. Well,--as you please. But I grieve to say that I
can spare you only a very few moments.'

'I would,' said Mr Haredale, 'you had spared me none. I would, with
all my soul, you had been in Paradise (if such a monstrous lie could be
enacted), rather than here to-night.'

'Nay,' returned the other--'really--you do yourself injustice. You are a
rough companion, but I would not go so far to avoid you.'

'Listen to me,' said Mr Haredale. 'Listen to me.'

'While you rail?' inquired Sir John.

'While I deliver your infamy. You urged and stimulated to do your work
a fit agent, but one who in his nature--in the very essence of his
being--is a traitor, and who has been false to you (despite the sympathy
you two should have together) as he has been to all others. With hints,
and looks, and crafty words, which told again are nothing, you set on
Gashford to this work--this work before us now. With these same hints,
and looks, and crafty words, which told again are nothing, you urged
him on to gratify the deadly hate he owes me--I have earned it, I thank
Heaven--by the abduction and dishonour of my niece. You did. I see
denial in your looks,' he cried, abruptly pointing in his face, and
stepping back, 'and denial is a lie!'

He had hi