rother
who was well-nigh a jail-bird, and whose only talent was penmanship. He
would have been a forger then if it hadn't been for me. For me he
afterwards became one. You know who I mean now--Rix. Mr. Winthrop gave
me opportunities, and I worked. I had little money, though, but time and
again I was called to his house, saw his daughter, and I was ambitious.
When she went abroad I followed; was as discreetly attentive as my wit
could make me--and when I failed to make the impression I hoped, and we
returned, I learned the reason--she was engaged to you. It made me
determine that I would undermine it. You did not love her, nor she you.
It was a family match, and not one that would make either of you happy.
My life in the regiment was a hell, because they seemed to--seemed to
know me for what I was. And you simply tolerated me. It made a devil of
me, Abbot, and I vowed that proud girl should love me and turn from you
if I had to hang for the means that brought it about. I was
quartermaster at Edwards's Ferry, and Rix was the man who fetched and
carried the mails. 'Twas easy enough to abstract her letters or yours
from time to time, but the case needed something more than that. Neglect
would not rouse her; jealousy might. One day there came the picture of
those girls at Hastings (Abbot's hands begin to clinch; he has listened
coldly up to this point), and I saw the group that was sent to them, and
the pretty letter written by their secretary, Miss Warren. Then came her
letter saying she was Guthrie Warren's sister. I knew him well at
college, and an idea occurred to me. I took your picture, wrote a note,
and had Rix copy it, and sent it in your name. When the answer came Rix
and I were on the lookout for it, and got it, and wrote again and again.
I had matter enough to work on with my knowledge of Warren, and then his
death intensified the interest. I don't care to look in your face now,
Abbot, for I'm not a fearless man; nothing but a beaten, broken,
cowardly scoundrel; but I began trying on that sweet and innocent
country girl the arts against which your _fiance_ my highbred kinswoman,
had been proof; I was bound to punish _her_ pride. But I found my pretty
correspondent as shy, as maidenly and reserved, with all her sister-love
and pride, as the other was superior. It was game worth bringing down,
by Heaven! and I grew desperate. I was drinking then, and getting
snarled up in my accounts, and you had turned a cold shoulde