ed to "stand his
ground" in the world, and trust to his consummate skill in secret
calumny to ruin him, another reflection showed that Cashel would not
play out the game on these conditions. A duel, in which one at least
must fall, would be inevitable; and although this was an ordeal he had
braved oftener than most men, he had no courage to dare it now. Through
all this tangled web of harassing hope and fear, regrets deep and
poignant entered, that he had not worked his ruin by slower and safer
steps. "I might have been both judge and jury--ay, and executioner too,"
muttered he, "had I been patient." And here he gave a low, sardonic
laugh. "When the hour of confiscation came, I might have played the
Crown's part also." But so is it: there is no halting in the downward
course of wickedness; the very pleadings of self-interest cannot
save men from the commission of _crimes_, by which they are to hide
_follies_.

The slow hours of the night dragged heavily on; the fire had gone out,
and the candle too--unnoticed, and Linton sat in the dark, brooding over
his gloomy thoughts. At one moment he would start up, and wonder if the
whole were not a terrible dream,--the nightmare of his own imagination;
and it was only after an effort he remembered where he was, and with
what object. He could not see his watch to tell the hour, but he knew it
must be late, since the fire had long since died out, and the room was
cold and chill. The agony of expectation became at last too great to
endure; he felt his way to the door and passed out, and groping down the
narrow stair, reached the outer door, and the road.

All was dark and lonely; not a sound of horseman or foot-traveller broke
the dreary stillness of the hour, as Linton, urged on by an impulse
he could not restrain, took his way towards the town. The distance was
scarcely above a mile, but his progress was slow, for the road was wet
and slippery, and the darkness very great. At last he reached the long
straggling suburb, with its interminable streets of wretched hovels; but
even here none were yet astir, and not a light was seen to glimmer. To
this succeeded the narrow streets of the town itself,--where, at long
intervals, a dusky yellow haze glimmered by way of lamplight. Stopping
beneath one of these, Linton examined his watch, and found that it was
near five o'clock. The lateness of the hour, and the unbroken stillness
on every side, half induced him to believe that "all was ove