"You 're too young and too generous to have a double in you," said he, after a long pause, in which it seemed as if he were scanning the other's nature; "and before we say any more, just tell me one thing. Did any one advise you to come here to-night?"

"Yes," said Frank, boldly.

"It was that doctor; the man they call the agent,--wasn't it?"

"Yes," replied the youth, in the same tone.

"Now, what has he against _me?_--what charge does he lay to me?"

"I know nothing about it," said Frank; "but if our interview is only to consist in an examination of myself, the sooner it ends the better."

"Don't you see what I'm at, sir?--don't you perceive that I only want to know your honor's feeling towards me, and whether what I 'm to say is to be laid up in your heart, or taken down in writing and made into an indictment."

"My feeling towards you is easily told. If you be an honest man, and have any need of me, I 'll stand by you; if you be not an honest man, but the dishonesty only affects myself and my interests, show me anything that can warrant it, and I 'm ready to forgive you."

The prisoner hung down his head, and for some minutes seemed deeply immersed in reflection.

"Mr. Dalton," said he, drawing his chair closer to the bed, "I 'll make this business very short, and we need n't be wasting our time talking over what is honesty and what is roguery,--things every man has his own notions about, and that depend far more upon what he has in his pocket than what he feels in his heart I can do _you_ a good turn; _you_ can do _me_ another. The service I can render you will make you a rich man, and put you at the head of your family, where you ought to be. All I ask in return is a free discharge from this jail, and money enough to go to America. There never was a better bargain for you! As for myself, I could make more of my secret if I liked; more, both in money--and--and in other ways."

As he said these last few words, his cheek grew scarlet and his eyes seemed to glisten.

"I scarcely understand you," said Frank. "Do you mean--"

"I 'll tell you what I mean, and so plainly that you can't mistake me.

I 'll make you what you have good right to be,----the 'Dalton of Corrig-O'Neal,' the ould place, that was in your mother's family for hundreds of years back. It is n't taking service in a foreign land you need be, but an Irish gentleman, living on his own lawful estate."

"And for this you ask--"

"Just what I told you,--an open door and two hundred pounds down," said the fellow, with a rough boldness that was close on insolence. "I've told you already that if I only wanted a good bargain there 's others would give more; but that's not what I 'm looking for. I 'm an old man,"

added he, in a softened voice, "and who knows when I may be called away to the long account!" Then suddenly, as it were correcting himself for a weak admission, he went on, more firmly, "That's neither here nor there; the matter is just this: Will you pay the trifle I ask, for three thousand a year, if it is n't more?"

"I must first of all consult with some friend--"

"There! that's enough. You 've said it now! Mr. Dalton, I 've done with you forever," said the fellow, rising and walking to the window.

"You have not heard me out," said Frank, calmly. "It may be that I have no right to make such a compact; it may be that by such a bargain I should be compromising the just claims of the law, not to vindicate my own rights alone, but to seek an expiation for a dreadful murder!"

"I tell you again, sir," said the fellow, with the same sternness as before,----"I tell you again, sir, that I've done with you forever. The devil a day you 'll ever pa.s.s under that same roof of Corrig-O'Neal as the master of it; and if you wish me to swear it, by the great----"

"Stop!" cried Frank, authoritatively. "You have either told me too much or too little, my good man; do not let your pa.s.sion hurry you into greater peril."

"What do you mean by that?" cried the other, turning fiercely round, and bending over the back of the chair, with a look of menace. "What do you mean by too much or too little?"

"This has lasted quite long enough," said Frank, rising slowly from the bed. "I foresee little benefit to either of us from protracting it further."

"You think you have me now, Mr. Dalton," said Meekins, with a sardonic grin, as he placed his back against the door of the cell. "You think you know enough, now, as if I wasn't joking all the while. Sure what do I know of your family or your estate except what another man told me?

Sure I've no power to get back your property for you. I 'm a poor man, without a friend in the world,"--here his voice trembled and his cheek grew paler; "it is n't thinking of this life I am at all, but what's before me in the next!"

"Let me pa.s.s out," said Frank, calmly.

"Of course I will, sir; I won't hinder you," said the other, but still not moving from the spot. "You said awhile ago that I told you too much or too little. Just tell me what that means before you go."

"Move aside, sir," said Frank, sternly.

"Not till you answer my question. Don't think you're back with your white-coated slaves again, where a man can be flogged to death for a look! I 'm your equal here, though I am in prison. Maybe, if you provoke me to it, I 'd show myself more than your equal!" There was a menace in the tone of these last words that could not be mistaken, and Frank quickly lifted his hand to his breast; but, quick as was the gesture, the other was too speedy for him, and caught his arm before he could seize the pistol. Just at this critical moment the key was heard to turn in the lock, and the heavy door was slowly opened. "There, take my arm, sir," said Meekins, slipping his hand beneath Frank's; "You 're far too weak to walk alone."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII. A FENCING-MATCH.

"You came in time,--in the very nick, Mr. Gray," said Frank, with a quiet smile. "My friend here and I had said all that we had to say to each other."

"Maybe you'd come again; maybe you'd give me five minutes another time?"

whispered Meekins, submissively, in Frank's ear.

"I think not," said Frank, with an easy significance in his look; "perhaps, on reflection, you'll find that I have come once too often!"

And with these words he left the cell, and, in silent meditation, returned to his companion.

"The fellow's voice was loud and menacing when I came to the door," said Gray, as they walked along.

"Yes, he grew excited just at that moment; he is evidently a pa.s.sionate man," was Frank's reply; and he relapsed into his former reserve.

Grounsell, who at first waited with most exemplary patience for Frank to narrate the substance of his interview, at last grew weary of his reserve, and asked him what had occurred between them.

Frank paid no attention to the question, but sat with his head resting on his hand, and evidently deep in thought. At last he said slowly,----

"Can you tell me the exact date of Mr. G.o.dfrey's murder?"

"To the day,--almost to the hour," replied Grounsell. Taking out his pocket-book, he read, "It was on a Friday, the 11th of November, in the year 18----."

"Great G.o.d!" cried Frank, grasping the other's arm, while his whole frame shook with a strong convulsion. "Was it, then, on that night?"

"Yes," said the other, "the murder took place at night. The body, when discovered the next morning, was perfectly cold."

"Then that was it!" cried Frank, wildly. "It was then----when the light was put out----when he crossed the garden----when he opened the wicket--"

A burst of hysteric laughter broke from him, and muttering, "I saw it, ----I saw it all," he fell back fainting into Grounsell's arms.

All the doctor's care and judicious treatment were insufficient to recall the youth to himself. His nervous system, shattered and broken by long illness, was evidently unequal to the burden of the emotions he was suffering under, and before he reached the hotel his mind was wandering away in all the incoherency of actual madness.

Next to the unhappy youth himself, Grounsell's case was the most pitiable. Unable to account for the terrible consequences of the scene whose events were a secret to himself, he felt all the responsibility of a calamity he had been instrumental in producing. From Frank it was utterly hopeless to look for any explanation; already his brain was filled with wild images of war and battle, mingled with broken memories of a scene which none around his bed could recognize. In his distraction Grounsell hurried to the jail to see and interrogate Meekins. Agitated and distracted as he was, all his prudent reserve and calm forethought were completely forgotten. He saw himself the cause of a dreadful affliction, and already cured in his heart the wiles and snares in which he was engaged. "If this boy's reason be lost forever, I, and I only, am in fault," he went on repeating as he drove in mad haste back to the prison.

In a few and scarcely coherent words he explained to Gray his wish to see the prisoner, and although apprised that he had already gone to rest, he persisted strongly, and was at length admitted into his cell.

Meekins started at the sound of the opening door, and called out gruffly, "Who's there?"

"It's your friend," said Grounsell, who had already determined on any sacrifice of his policy which should give him the hope of aiding Frank.