d Jones, as he prepared himself for the road.

"No; I mean to _me_, I _do_ know him thoroughly; and well I know the
earth would be too narrow to live upon, were that man once more free and
at liberty."

In his eagerness for Jones's departure, he almost pushed him from the
room; and then, when he had closed and locked the door again, he sat
down beside the low flickering fire, and as the fitful light played upon
his features, all the appliances of disguise he wore could not hide the
terrible ravages that long corroding anxiety had made in him. Far more
did he resemble the arraigned criminal than he who now stood in the
dock, and with a cheek blanched only by imprisonment, waited calm,
collected, and erect--"Equal to either fortune."

Linton had often felt all the terrible suspense which makes the paradise
or the hell of the gambler: he had known what it was to have his whole
fortune on the issue, at a moment when the rushing mob of horsemen and
foot concealed the winning horse from view, and mingled in their mad
cheers the names of those whose victory had been his ruin and disgrace.
He had watched the rolling die, on whose surface, as it turned, all he
owned in the world was staked; he had sat gazing on the unturned card,
on which his destiny was already written;--and yet all these moments of
agonizing suspense were as nothing compared to that he now suffered, as
he sat with bent down head trying to catch the sounds which from time to
time the wind bore along from the town.

As if to feed his mind with hope, he would recapitulate to himself all
the weighty and damnatory details which environed Cashel, and which, by
their singular consistency and coherence, seemed irrefutable. He would
even reckon them upon his fingers, as "so many chances against him." He
would try to imagine himself one of the jury, listening to the evidence
and the charge; and asked himself "were it possible to reject such
proofs?" He pictured to his mind Cashel addressing the Court with all
that rash and impetuous eloquence so characteristic of him, and which,
to more trained and sober tempers, would indicate a nature little
subject to the cold discipline of restraint; and from all these
speculative dreams he would start suddenly up, to lean out of the window
and listen. Other thoughts, too, would cross his mind, scarcely less
distracting. What would become of himself should Cashel escape? Whither
should he retire? If, at one moment, he half resolv