steadfastly at him.

"If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard.

"How so?" asked Wild, curiously.

"I had a terrible dream last night. I thought my sister and her murdered
husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay
me."

"A terrible dream, indeed," said Jonathan thoughtfully. "But you
mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Let me recommend a glass of
wine."

"My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand. "I cannot
remain here long."

"You will remain longer than you anticipate," muttered Wild.

"Before I go," continued Sir Rowland, "I must beg of you to disclose to
me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell."

"Willingly," replied Wild. "Thinking it likely you might desire to have
this information, I prepared accordingly. First, look at this glove. It
belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was
murdered. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it."

"Ha!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting, "is he so highly born?"

"This letter will inform you," replied Wild, placing a document in his
hand.

"What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. "I know the hand--ha! my friend! and
I have murdered _him_! And my sister was thus nobly, thus illustriously
wedded. O God! O God!"

And he appeared convulsed with agony.

"Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might
have been spared me!"

"Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild,
bitterly.

"It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried
Trenchard. "I will set about it instantly. He shall have the estates. I
will return to Manchester at once."

"You had better take some refreshment before you start," rejoined Wild.
"'_You've a long journey before you._'"

As the signal was given, the Jew, who had been some time in expectation
of it, darted swiftly and silently behind Sir Rowland, and flung a cloth
over his head, while Jonathan, rushing upon him in front, struck him
several quick and violent blows in the face with the bludgeon. The
white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this,
Jonathan continued his murderous assault. The struggles of the wounded
man were desperate--so desperate, that in his agony he overset the
table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face
horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. So appalling was the
sight, that even the murderers--famili