“Non sequitur,” said Rivers.

“What’s that? some of your d——­d law gibberish, I suppose.  If you want me to talk with you at all, Guy, you must speak in a language I understand.”

“Why, so I will, Wat.  I only meant to say, in a phrase common to the law, and which your friend Pippin makes use of a dozen times a day, that it did not follow from what you said, that the causes which led to the death of the spider and the butterfly were the same.  This we may know by the manner in which they are respectively destroyed.  The boy, with much precaution and an aversion he does not seek to disguise in his attempts on the spider, employs his shoe or a stick for the purpose of slaughter.  But, with the butterfly, the case is altogether different.  He first catches, and does not fear to hold it in his hand.  He inspects it closely, and proceeds to analyze that which his young thought has already taught him is a beautiful creation of the insect world.  He strips it, wing by wing of its gaudy covering; and then, with a feeling of ineffable scorn, that so wealthy a noble should go unarmed and unprotected, he dashes him to the ground, and terminates his sufferings without further scruple.  The spider, having a sting, he is compelled to fear, and consequently taught to respect.  The feelings are all perfectly natural, however, which prompt his proceedings.  The curiosity is common and innate which impels him to the inspection of the insect; and that feeling is equally a natural impulse which prompts him to the death of the spider without hesitation.  So with me—­it is enough that I hate this boy, though possessed of numberless attractions of mind and person.  Shall I do him the kindness to inquire whether there be reason for the mood which prompts me to destroy him?”

“You were always too much for me, Guy, at this sort of argument, and you talk the matter over ingeniously enough, I grant; but still I am not satisfied, that a mere antipathy, without show of reason, originally induced your dislike to this young man.  When you first sought to do him up, you were conscious of this, and gave, as a reason for the desire, the cut upon your face, which so much disfigured your loveliness.”

Rivers did not appear very much to relish or regard this speech, which had something of satire in it; but he was wise enough to restrain his feelings, as, reverting back to their original topic, he spoke in the following manner:—­

“You are unusually earnest after reasons and motives for action, to-night:  is it not strange, Munro, that it has never occasioned surprise in your mind, that one like myself, so far superior in numerous respects to the men I have consented to lead and herd with, should have made such my profession?”

“Not at all,” was the immediate and ready response of his companion.  “Not at all.  This was no mystery to me, for I very well knew that you had no choice, no alternative.  What else could you have done?  Outlawed and under sentence, I knew that you could never return, in any safety or security, whatever might be your disguise, to the society which had driven you out—­and I’m sure that your chance would be but a bad one were you to seek a return to the old practice at Gwinnett courthouse.  Any attempt there to argue a fellow out of the halter would be only to argue yourself into it.”