Again Marmaduke's handsome face was disfigured with concentrated passion. "Yes, she was here," returned he, speaking through his teeth. "For what she suffered alone, the place would be cursed. Coward, scoundrel! Why does God suffer such men to live?" It was terrible to see how like this young lad grew to the man he was execrating. He went on using such language as I could not have conceived him capable of employing. "Marmaduke," said I, soothingly, "for Heaven's sake, be calm. Providence will one day reward this man; it is not for you to Curse him. Come, now that I pay you a visit for the first time, you should play the host, and show me over the mansion. Why, that queer old dog seems to understand what one says; he rises as though he were the châtelain, and kept the keys of Doubting Castle. He brought me here as true as a blind man's cur. I cannot say, however, that he is beautiful; he is hideous, weird." "It would be strange, indeed, if he were like other dogs," returned Marmaduke gravely. "He is the sole living repository of a most frightful secret. If he could but speak, he could perhaps send a man to the gallows." "What man?" exclaimed I. "Pray explain to me this mystery." "I do not know what man," returned my companion solemnly; "I only conjecture. I will relate to you what is known of the matter, and you shall judge for yourself." Marmaduke opened the door, to see that no one was in the passage without, and then seating himself close beside me, commenced as follows:--"My grandfather and the present baronet lived on bad terms with one another. For the last ten years of his life, Sir Wentworth and his eldest son never met--but once--if they met at all. He had been very profligate and extravagant in his young days; but in his old age he grew miserly. When my father saw him last, it was in a small house in Bedford Place, in London, where he lived in a couple of ill-furnished rooms, and without a servant. Grimjaw and he slept there alone, but a charwoman came in every morning for a few hours. Sir Wentworth then gave it as his reason for this kind of life, that he was retrenching, in order to leave some suitable provision for his second son. 'Look here, Gilbert,' said he upon one occasion to my father; 'I have begun to lay by for you already; and he showed him a quantity of bank-notes, amounting to several thousand pounds. He had never been an affectionate parent, or exhibited any self-denial for the benefit of his sons; and my father did not believe him. He thanked him, of course; but he came away without any idea that he would be really better off at Sir Wentworth's death. This was fortunate for him, for he never received a farthing; but I am not so certain as he was that the baronet did not intend to do what he promised. While the old man was living in this sordid fashion, his son Massingberd was passing his time very gaily at court. He played high, and there were few who could beat him with the cards--but there were some.