"Know of him? that he made all his money by gambling; that he is a
murderer."

The last word was spoken low and close to the listener's ear.

Mr. Ross started back--horrified--deadly pale.

"Gordon! do you know whereof you affirm?" he asked low and huskily.

"I do; I had the account from one who was an eye-witness of the affair. He
is dead now, and I do not suppose it would be possible to prove the thing
in a court of justice; but nevertheless I assure you it is true.

"It was thirty years ago, on a Mississippi steamer, running between St.
Louis and New Orleans, that the deed was done.

"Larrabee, then a professional black-leg, was aboard, plying his trade. My
informant, a man whose veracity I could not doubt, was one of a group of
bystanders, who saw him (Larrabee) fleece a young man out of several
thousand dollars--all he had in the world--then, enraged by some taunting
words from his victim, pull out a pistol and shoot him through the heart,
just as they sat there on opposite sides of the gaming table; then with
his revolver still in his hand, threatening with terrible oaths and
curses, to shoot down any man who should attempt to stop him, he rushed on
deck, jumped into the river, swam ashore and disappeared in the woods."

"Horrible, horrible!" groaned Mr. Ross, hiding his face in his hands. "And
this murderer, this fiend in human form, would have married my daughter!"
he cried, starting up in strong excitement. "Why was he suffered to
escape? Where is he now?"

"The whole thing passed so quickly, my informant said, that every one
seemed stunned, paralyzed with horror and fright till the scoundrel had
made good his escape; beside there were several others of the same stamp
on board--desperate fellows, probably belonging to the same gang--who
were evidently ready to make common cause with the ruffian.

"That part of our country was, you know, in those days, infested with
desperadoes and outlaws."

"Yes, yes; but what is to be done now? I shall of course send a note to
Larrabee, at his hotel, telling him that all is at an end between him and
Gertrude, forbidding him the house, and intimating that the sooner he
leaves the vicinity the better. But--Gordon, I can never thank you
sufficiently for this kindness; will you add to it by keeping the thing to
yourself for the present? I wouldn't for the world have the story get into
the papers."

"Certainly, Ross!" returned his friend, grasping his hand in adieu. "