“But my wife is ill of fever,” said M’Loughlin, “and surely you are at all events an Irishman, and will not drag her from her sick bed—­perhaps her bed of death?”

“That act of kindness to her would be kindness to you and your family, Mr. M’Loughlin, and for that reason she shall go out, if she were to expire on the moment.  No; this is the day of my vengeance and my triumph.  Harvey,” he added, “tell Jack Stuart to come to me.”

Harvey went out, and in a minute or two Stuart came in; a heavy-faced, sullen-looking villain, who strongly resembled Val himself in character, for he was equally cowardly and ferocious.  Val met him in the hall—­

“Stuart,” said he, “I have sent up three or four fellows—­the two Boyds and the two Carsons—­to arrest a fellow named Easel—­a Spy or something of that kind—­with orders to lodge him in goal; go up and tell them to bring him here first.  I have my reasons for it; he has taken an interest in this M’Loughlin, and I wish him to witness his punishment.”

“Hadn’t you betther put the rascal in the stocks, or give an ordher for it, till it’s your honor’s convenience to see him?”

“No, no, desire them to bring him here immediately—­go now, and do not lose a moment.”

On entering the parlor again, he rubbed his hands with perfect delight.

“Ay,” said he, “this day, M’Loughlin, I have long looked for; this day, this day, ha, ha, ha!”

“M’Clutchy,” said M’Loughlin, “I always knew you were a bad and black-hearted man; but that you were such a perfect devil I never knew till now.  What, to drag out my sick wife!”

“Ha! ha! ha!”

“Consider that her removal now will occasion her death.”

“Ha! ha! ha!”

“You will not do it; you could not do it.  Would you kill her?”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!  M’Loughlin, this is the day of my vengeance, and my triumph.  Ha, ha, ha!”

“Friend M’Clutchy,” said Solomon, “permit me for one moment to remonstrate—­”

“Permit the devil, sir,” said Val, stamping on the floor with fury; “remonstrate!  Don’t you know that I have this fellow safely in my power?”

“I do,” replied Solomon, “and my remonstrance would have been, had you heard me, simply and humbly to suggest that you might do the thing—–­this vengeance that you speak of—­in an edifying manner—­or, in other words, in a mild and Christian spirit.”

“Solomon, you are after all but a poor devil,” said Val; “a poor pitiful scoundrel, that can’t understand what full, deep-seated, and lasting vengeance means.  You are only fit to sneak, and peep, and skulk about after a sly, prim, sweet-faced—­but I am losing my breath to speak to you.  Gordon, is the inventory taken?”

“It is, sir; Montgomery has it.”

“That’s well, here are the carts then—­ay, and here comes the sheriff.  Now for business.”

“So, then, you will proceed, Mr. M’Clutchy?” said M’Loughlin.