elf to nothing, Mr.
Trevelyan, that was not said and done in good faith."

"She will not break her word, excusing herself, because I am--mad?"

"I am sure that there is nothing of the kind in her mind."

"Perhaps not now; but such things grow. There is no iniquity, no
breach of promise, no treason that a woman will not excuse to
herself,--or a man either,--by the comfortable self-assurance that
the person to be injured is--mad. A hound without a friend is not so
cruelly treated. The outlaw, the murderer, the perjurer has surer
privileges than the man who is in the way, and to whom his friends
can point as being--mad!" Mr. Glascock knew or thought that he knew
that his host in truth was mad, and he could not, therefore, answer
this tirade by an assurance that no such idea was likely to prevail.
"Have they told you, I wonder," continued Trevelyan, "how it was
that, driven to force and an ambuscade for the recovery of my own
child, I waylaid my wife and took him from her? I have done nothing
to forfeit my right as a man to the control of my own family. I
demanded that the boy should be sent to me, and she paid no attention
to my words. I was compelled to vindicate my own authority; and then,
because I claimed the right which belongs to a father, they said that
I was--mad! Ay, and they would have proved it, too, had I not fled
from my country and hidden myself in this desert. Think of that, Mr.
Glascock! Now they have followed me here,--not out of love for me;
and that man whom they call a governor comes and insults me; and my
wife promises to be good to me, and says that she will forgive and
forget! Can she ever forgive herself her own folly, and the cruelty
that has made shipwreck of my life? They can do nothing to me here;
but they would entice me home because there they have friends, and
can fee doctors,--with my own money,--and suborn lawyers, and put me
away,--somewhere in the dark, where I shall be no more heard of among
men! As you are a man of honour, Mr. Glascock,--tell me; is it not
so?"

"I know nothing of their plans,--beyond this, that you wrote me word
that you would send them the boy."

"But I know their plans. What you say is true. I did write you
word,--and I meant it. Mr. Glascock, sitting here alone from
morning to night, and lying down from night till morning, without
companionship, without love, in utter misery, I taught myself to feel
that I should think more of her than of myself."

"If you a