“As an independent man, sir, and a gentleman, I shall not answer such a question.”

“You brave me, sir—­you defy me.” continued the other, his face still pale, but baleful in its expression.

“Yes, sir,” replied the other, “I brave you—­I defy you.”

“Very well, sir,” returned the baronet—­“remember these words.”

“I am not in the habit of forgetting anything that a man of spirit ought to remember,” said the other—­“I have the honor of wishing you a good-morning.”

The baronet withdrew in a passion that had risen to red heat, and was proceeding to mount his horse at the door, when Counsellor Crackenfudge, who had followed him downstairs, thus addressed him: 

“I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas; I happened to be sitting in the back-room while you were speaking to that strange fellow above; I pledge you my honor I did not listen; but I could not help overhearing, you know—­well, Sir Thomas, I can tell you something about him.”

“How!” said the baronet, whose eye I gleamed with delight—­“Can you, in truth, tell me anything about him, Mr. Crackenfudge?  You will oblige me very much if you do.”

“I will tell you all I know about him, Sir Thomas,” replied the worthy counsellor; “and that is, that I know he has paid many secret visits to Mr. Birney the attorney.”

“To Birney!” exclaimed the other; and, as he spoke, he seemed actually to stagger back a step or two, whilst the paleness of his complexion increased to a hue that was ghastly—­“to Birney!—­to my blackest and bitterest enemy—­to the man who, I suspect, has important family documents of mine in his possession.  Thanks, even for this, Crackenfudge—­you are looking to become of the peace.  Hearken now; aid me in ferreting out this lurking scoundrel, and I shall not forget your wishes.”  He then rode homewards.

The stranger, during this stormy dialogue with Sir Thomas Gourlay, turned his eye, from time to time, toward Fenton, who appeared to have lost consciousness itself so long as the baronet was in the room.  On the departure, however, of that gentleman, he went over to him, and said: 

“Why, Fenton, what’s the matter?” Fenton looked at him with a face of great distress, from which the perspiration was pouring, but seemed utterly unable to speak.

CHAPTER VI.  Extraordinary Scene between Fenton and the Stranger.

The character of Fenton was one that presented an extraordinary variety of phases.  With the exception of the firmness and pertinacity with which he kept the mysterious secret of his origin and identity—­that is, if he himself knew them, he was never known to maintain the same moral temperament for a week together.  Never did there exist a being so capricious and unstable.  At one time, you found him all ingenuousness and candor; at another, no earthly power could extort a syllable of truth from his lips.  For whole days, if not