“Ha! ha! ha! you have joined the church, haven’t you, since we met last?”

“I see, sir, you think, because I assisted you in your plans, that I have no honor, no conscience, no humanity.  Why, sir, what I have done for you was only a duty which my religion demanded of me.”

“Your creed must be an original one!” replied Jaspar, with a sickly laugh.

“It is an original one.  You thought yourself better entitled to your brother’s property than this giddy girl.  So did I; and it was my duty to see justice done.  A matter of conscience with me, upon my honor.”

“Enough of this!” said Jaspar, sternly, for a joke soon grew stale with him.

“Be it so; but remember the story is true.”

“And you did me the favor to blow up the steamer!” sneered Jaspar.

“At the risk of my own life, I did.  I bribed the firemen to crowd on the steam, and the engineers to keep down the safety-valve,—­all under the excitement of a race, though with special reference to your interest.”

“Was this part of your creed, too?”

“Certainly,” and the attorney launched out into a dissertation of theology and kindred topics, with which we will not trouble the reader.

Jaspar heard it not, for he was busy in considerations of a less metaphysical character.  He was thinking of his present position, and of the overseer, whose step he heard on the veranda.

“I see,” said he, interrupting De Guy, “you have been my friend.”

This remark was the result of his deliberations.  He might need the services of the attorney.

“I expect my overseer on business in a moment,” continued he, “and I should like to see you again, after he has gone.  May I trouble you to step into this room for a few moments?”

“Certainly,” replied De Guy, who was congratulating himself on his success in conciliating the “bear of Bellevue,” as he styled him among his boon companions.

Jaspar closed the door upon the attorney, and was in the act of lighting a cigar, when Dalhousie entered.  The overseer endeavored to discover in the countenance of his employer some indications of his motive in sending for him; but Jaspar maintained a perfect indifference, which defeated his object, Neither spoke for several moments; but at last the overseer, embarrassed by the silence, said,

“You sent for me, Mr. Dumont?”

“I did,” said Jaspar, suddenly, as though the words had roused him from his profound abstraction; “I did; one of my keys is missing, so that I cannot open the drawer.  You arranged its contents, I believe.”

“Yes,” said Dalhousie, flustered, for he was not so deeply skilled in the arts of deception as to carry them on without some compunction; “but I left the key in the drawer.”

“You see It is not there,” said Jaspar, fixing his sharp gray eye upon the overseer.

“It is not,” said Dalhousie, advancing to the secretary.  “Probably it has fallen upon the floor—­” and he stooped down to look for it.