from
the supernatural.

The baronet was in the general affairs of life, penurious in money
matters, but on those occasions where money was necessary to enable him
to advance or mature his plans, conceal his proceedings, or reward
his instruments, he was by no means illiberal. This, however, was mere
selfishness, or rather, we should say, self-preservation, inasmuch
as his success and reputation depended in a great degree upon the
liberality of his corruption. On the present occasion he regretted, no
doubt, the loss of the money, but we are bound to say, that he would
have given its amount fifteen times repeated, to get once more into his
hands the single pound-note of which he had treacherously and like
a coward robbed Fenton while asleep in the carriage. This loss, in
connection With the robbery which occasioned it, forced him to retrace
to a considerable extent the process of ratiocination on the subject
of fate and destiny, in which he had so complacently indulged not long
before.

No matter how deep and hardened any villain may be, the most reckless
and unscrupulous of the class possess some conscious principle within,
that tells them of their misdeeds, and acquaints them with the fact that
a point in the moral government of life has most certainly been made
against them. So was it now with the baronet. He laid himself upon his
gorgeous bed a desponding, and, for the present, a discomfited man;
nor could he for the life of him, much as he pretended to disregard the
operations of a Divine Providence, avoid coming to the conclusion that
the highway robbery committed on him looked surprisingly like an act
of retributive justice. He consoled himself, it is true, with the
reflection, that it was not for the value of the note that he had
committed the crime upon Fenton, for to him the note, except for its
mere amount, was in other respects valueless. But what galled him to
the soul, was the bitter reflection that he did not, on perceiving its
advantage to Fenton, at once destroy it--tear it up--eat it--swallow
it--and thus render it utterly impossible to ever contravene his
ambition or his crimes. In the meantime slumber stole upon him, but it
was neither deep nor refreshing. His mind was a chaos of dark projects
and frightful images. Fenton--the ragged and gigantic robber, who was
so much changed by famine and misery that he did not know him--the
stranger--his daughter--Ginty Cooper, the fortune-teller--Lord
Cullamor