“And he took the bait so easily, Godfrey?  Never suspected that it was all a sham?  Ha! ha! ha!  Let me look at the money.  I can scarcely believe my own senses.  Ha! ha! ha!  Why, man, you have found out a more expeditious method of making gold than your miserly uncle ever knew.”

“Aye, but I have not his method of keeping it, Bill; but you may well laugh.  This proud boy is in our toils now.  I have him as sure as fate.  I must say that I felt a slight pang of remorse when I saw him willing to dare so much for me; and he looked so like my father, that I could almost have fancied that the dead looked through his eyes into my soul.  I have gone too far to recede.  What must be, must be; none of us shape our own destinies, or some good angel would have warned Anthony of his danger.”

“What the devil has become of Mary?” said Mathews, glancing round the kitchen.  “She and I had some words last night; it was a foolish piece of business, but she provoked me past endurance.  I found her dressed up very smart just at nightfall, and about to leave the house.  I asked her where she was going so late in the evening.  She answered, ’To hear the Ranters preach in the village; that she wanted to know what they had to say to her soul.’  So I cursed her soul, and bade her go back to her chamber, and not expose her shame to the world; and she grew fierce, and asked me tauntingly, who it was that had brought her to that shame, and if I were not the greater sinner of the two; and I struck her in my anger, and drove her up stairs.”

“Struck her!” said Godfrey, starting back.  “Struck a woman!  That woman your sister, and in her helpless situation!  You dared not do such a cowardly, unmanly act?”

“I was drunk,” said Mathews, gloomily; “and she was so aggravating that I am not sure that you would have kept your hands off her.  She flew at me like an enraged tiger-cat, with clenched fists and eyes flashing fire, and returned me what I gave with interest; and I believe there would have been murder between us, if Mrs. Strawberry had not dragged her off.  What has become of her, mother.  How is she now?”

“You had better go up and see,” said the woman, with a bitter laugh.  “She is not very likely to fight again to-day.”

There was something mysterious in the woman’s manner that startled the ruffian.  “Come up with me, Godfrey, and speak to her.  One word from you will make my peace with Mary.  I did not mean to hurt the girl.”

Mary had been sleeping.  The sound of their steps broke in upon her feverish slumber; but she still kept her eyes closed, as if unwilling to rouse herself from the stupor of grief in which she had fallen.

“She is sleeping,” said Mathews, approaching the bed.  “By Jove!  I thought she was dead.  How still she lies.  How deadly pale she looks—­and what is that upon her breast?”

“A child! my child!” cried Godfrey, stepping eagerly forward.  “Poor Mary! she is safe through that trial.  But the child—­”