cold,
unsympathizing reserve, which made him, at once, an object of universal
conversation and dislike.

Three weeks after Glanville's first speech in the House, I called upon
him, with a proposal from Lord Dawton. After we had discussed it, we
spoke on more familiar topics, and, at last, he mentioned Thornton. It
will be observed that we had never conversed respecting that person; nor
had Glanville once alluded to our former meetings, or to his disguised
appearance and false appellation at Paris. Whatever might be the
mystery, it was evidently of a painful nature, and it was not,
therefore, for me to allude to it. This day he spoke of Thornton with a
tone of indifference.

"The man," he said, "I have known for some time; he was useful to me
abroad, and, notwithstanding his character, I rewarded him well for his
services. He has since applied to me several times for money, which is
spent at the gambling-house as soon as it is obtained. I believe him to
be leagued with a gang of sharpers of the lowest description; and I
am really unwilling any farther to supply the vicious necessities of
himself and his comrades. He is a mean, mercenary rascal, who would
scruple at no enormity, provided he was paid for it!"

Glanville paused for a few moments, and then added, while his cheek
blushed, and his voice seemed somewhat hesitating and embarrassed--"You
remember Mr. Tyrrell, at Paris?"

"Yes," said I--"he is, at present, in London, and--" Glanville started
as if he had been shot.

"No, no," he exclaimed, wildly--"he died at Paris, from want--from
starvation."

"You are mistaken," said I; "he is now Sir John Tyrrell, and possessed
of considerable property. I saw him myself, three weeks ago."

Glanville, laying his hand upon my arm, looked in my face with a long,
stern, prying gaze, and his cheek grew more ghastly and livid with every
moment. At last he turned, and muttered something between his teeth; and
at that moment the door opened, and Thornton was announced. Glanville
sprung towards him and seized him by the throat!

"Dog!" he cried, "you have deceived me--Tyrrell lives!"

"Hands off!" cried the gamester, with a savage grin of defiance--"hands
off! or, by the Lord that made me, you shall have gripe for gripe!"

"Ho, wretch!" said Glanville, shaking him violently, while his worn
and slender, yet still powerful frame, trembled with the excess of his
passion; "dost thou dare to threaten me!" and with these words h