Val now proceeded to execute his great mission of vengeance.  As he went along—­his heart literally beat with a sense of Satanic triumph and delight; his spirit became exhilarated, and all his faculties moved in a wild tumult of delirious enjoyment.  He was at best but a slow horseman, but on this occasion he dashed onward with an unconscious speed that was quite unusual to him.  At length he reached M’Loughlin’s, whither the carts had been sent, immediately on his return from Deaker’s.  All there seemed very quiet and orderly; the usual appearance of business and bustle was not of course visible, for, thanks to his own malignant ingenuity and implacable resentment, there were many families in the neighborhood not only thrown out of employment, but in a state of actual destitution.  Having knocked at the hall door, it was instantly opened by one of his own retainers, and without either preface or apology he entered the parlor.  There was none there but M’Loughlin himself, Gordon Harvey, the excellent fellow of whom we have already spoken, and whom M’Loughlin, in consequence of his manly and humane character, had treated with kindness and respect—­and Solomon M’Slime who had arrived only a few minutes before him.

“Gentlemen,” said M’Loughlin, “what have I done, that I am to thank you both for your kindness in honoring a ruined man with this unusual visit.”

Val gave him a long, fixed and triumphant look,—­such a look as a savage gives his worst enemy, when he gets him beneath his knee, and brandishes his war-knife, before plunging it in his throat.

“Indeed, my good neighbor,” replied Solomon, seeing that Val did not speak, “I believe it is a matter of conscience on the part of my friend M’Clutchy here, who is about to exhibit towards you and your family a just specimen of Christian retribution.  In my view of the matter, however, he is merely the instrument; for I am one, Mr. M’Loughlin, who believe, that in whatever we do here, we are only working out purposes that are shaped above.”

“What! when we rob the poor, oppress the distressed, strive to blacken the character of an innocent girl, or blast the credit of an industrious man, and bring him and his to ruin?  Do you mean to say, that the scoundrel”—­he looked at Val as he uttered the last word—­“the scoundrel who does this, and ten times more than this, is working out the purposes of God?  If you do, Sir” he continued, “carry your blasphemy elsewhere, for I tell you that you shall not utter it under this roof.”

“This roof,” said Val, “in two hours hence shall be no longer yours.”

“I thought you pledged yourself solemnly that you would not take any hasty steps, in consequence of my embarrassments,” said M’Loughlin; “but you see that I understand your character thoroughly.  You are still the same treacherous and cowardly scoundrel that you ever were, and that you ever will be.”

“This roof,” replied Val, “in an hour or two shall be no longer yours.  You and yours shall be this night roofless, homeless, houseless.  This, Brian M’Loughlin, is the day of my vengeance and of my triumph.  Out you go, sir, without consideration, without pity, without mercy—­aye, mercy, for now you are at my mercy, and shall not find it.”