the name, which your destiny compelled me to exchange for another, you sought me out—­you thrust your enticements upon me; and, in an hour of gloom, and defeat, and despondency, you seized upon me with those claws of temptation which are even now upon my shoulders, and I gave up all!  I made the sacrifice—­name, fame, honor, troops of friends—­for what?  Answer you!  You are rich—­you own slaves in abundance—­secure from your own fortunes, you have wealth hourly increasing.  What have I?  This scar, this brand, that sends me among men no longer the doubtful villain—­the words are written there in full!”

The speaker paused, exhausted.  His face was pale and livid—­his form trembled with convulsion—­and his lips grew white and chalky, while quivering like a troubled water.  The landlord, after a gloomy pause, replied:—­

“You have spoken but the truth, Guy, and anything that I can do—­”

“You will not do!” responded the other, passionately, and interrupting the speaker in his speech.  “You will do nothing!  You ruin me in the love and esteem of those whom I love and esteem—­you drive me into exile—­you lead me into crime, and put me upon a pursuit which teaches me practices that brand me with man’s hate and fear, and—­if the churchmen speak truth, which I believe not—­with heaven’s eternal punishment!  What have I left to desire but hate—­blood—­the blood of man—­who, in driving me away from his dwelling, has made me an unrelenting enemy—­his hand everywhere against me, and mine against him!  While I had this pursuit, I did not complain; but you now interpose to deny me even this.  The boy whom I hate, not merely because of his species, but, in addition, with a hate incurred by himself, you protect from my vengeance, though affecting to be utterly careless of his fate—­and all this you conclude with a profession of willingness to do for me whatever you can!  What miserable mockery is this?”

“And have I done nothing—­and am I seeking to do nothing for you, Guy, by way of atonement?  Have I not pledged to you the person of my niece, the sweet young innocent, who is not unworthy to be the wife of the purest and proudest gentleman of the southern country?  Is this nothing—­is it nothing to sacrifice such a creature to such a creature?  For well I know what must be her fate when she becomes your wife.  Well I know you!  Vindictive, jealous, merciless, wicked, and fearless in wickedness—­God help me, for it will be the very worst crime I have ever yet committed!  These are all your attributes, and I know the sweet child will have to suffer from the perpetual exercise of all of them.”

“Perhaps so! and as she will then be mine, she must suffer them, if I so decree; but what avails your promise, so long as you—­in this matter a child yourself—­suffer her to protract and put off at her pleasure.  Me she receives with scorn and contempt, you with tears and entreaties; and you allow their influence; in the hope, doubtless, that some lucky chance—­the pistol-shot or the hangman’s collar—­will rid you of my importunities.  Is it not so, Munro?” said the ruffian, with a sneer of contemptuous bitterness.