“If you had seen blood as often upon your hand as I have upon mine, you would tell a different story.  Kill a man, and then see if what we hear of ghosts and spirits are mere fables.  I tell thee, Godfrey Hurdlestone, they never die, but live and walk abroad, and haunt you continually.  The voice they speak with will be heard.  In solitary places—­in the midst of crowds—­at fairs and merry-makings—­in the noon of day, and at the dead of night, I have heard their mocking tones.”  He leaned his elbows upon his knees, and supported his chin between the palms of his hands, and continued to stare upon Godfrey with vacant bloodshot eyes.

“Don’t take me for a ghost,” said Godfrey, the same sarcastic smile passing over his handsome face.  “What does it matter to us where our fathers are gone?  If there is a place of future rewards or punishments, depend upon it we shall only have to answer for our own sins; and as you and I have, at present, but a small chance of getting to heaven, we may as well make the most of our time on earth.”

“Confound that death-bell,” said the smuggler, “it has a living voice to-night.  I never hear it but it reminds me of Newgate, and I fancy that I shall hear it toll for my own death before I die.”

“A very probable consummation, though certainly not a very pleasant one,” said Godfrey ironically.  “But away with such melancholy presages.  Take another sup of the brandy, Mathews, and tell me what you are going to do for a living.  The lease of your farm expires in a few days.  Mr. ——­ has taken possession of the estates, and means, Johnstone tells me, to put in another tenant.  What will become of you and Mary in the meanwhile?”

“I have not thought about it yet.  At any rate, I can always live by the old trade, and fall upon my feet.  At all events, we must leave this place.  It is little that father has saved.  The neighbors think him rich, but a drunkard never dies rich; and you know, Mr. Godfrey, that the weight of a pig is never known until after it is dead.  There will not be much more than will bury him.  There are the crops in the ground, to be sure, and the cattle, and a few sticks of furniture; but debts of honor must be paid, and I have been very unlucky of late.  By the by, Master Godfrey, what does your cousin mean to do with himself?”

“He must go home to his miserly dad, I suppose.”

“Humph!  I think that I will go to Ashton and settle in that neighborhood myself; I like to be near old friends.”

“What can induce you, Mathews, to go there?”

“I have my reasons.  Strong reasons too, in which I am sure you will heartily concur.”  He looked into his companion’s eyes, with an expression so peculiar, that Godfrey started as if some new light had suddenly flashed upon his soul, while Mathews continued in a lower voice, “Suppose, now that we could get up a regular quarrel between old Ironsides and his son; who would then be the miser’s heir?”