Linton sat down, and covered his face with both hands. The trouble of his feelings had carried him far away from all thought of concealment, and of the part which so long he had been playing. Indeed, so insensible was he to every consideration save one, that he forgot Corrigan's presence--forgot where he was; and in the paroxysm of his baffled purpose, muttered half aloud broken curses upon the insane folly of the old man's act. “I am compelled to remind you, sir, that I am a listener,” said Mr. Corrigan, whose face, suffused with a flush of anger, showed that the insulting remarks had been overheard by him. “And this was done without advice or consultation with any one?” said Linton, not heeding the last remark, nor the look that accompanied it. “I was free then, sir, to speak my gratitude, as I now am to utter my indignation that you should dare to canvass _my_ acts and question _my_ motives, both of which are above your control.” Linton stared at him almost vacantly; his own thoughts, and not the old man's words, had possession of his mind. With a rapidity of computation in which few were his equals, he ran over all the varying chances of success which had accompanied his game,--the pains he had taken to avert all cause of failure; the unwearying attention he had given to every minute point and doubtful issue,--and now, here, at the very last, came the ruin of all his plans, and wreck of all his hopes. “You have said enough--more than enough, sir--to show me how disinterested were the views in which you sought my granddaughter in marriage,” said Corrigan, haughtily; “nor would it much surprise me, now, were I to discover that he who is so skilful a double-dealer may be no less expert as a calumniator. I will beg you to leave my house this instant.” “Not so fast, sir,” said Linton, assuming a seat, and at once regaining that insolent composure for which he was noted; “I have not that generous warmth of character which is so conspicuous in _you_. I have never given Mr. Cashel a release of any obligation I possess upon him. This house is _mine_, sir--mine by legal transfer and right; and it is _you_ who are the intruder!” The old man staggered backwards, and leaned against the wall; a clammy perspiration covered his face and forehead, and he seemed sick to the very death. It was some time before he could even utter a word; and then, as with clasped hands and uplifted eyes he spoke, the fervor of his words told that they were heart-spoken. “Thank God for this! but for it, and I had given my child to a scoundrel!” “Scarcely polite, sir, and, perhaps, scarcely politic,” said Linton, with his treacherous half-smile. “It would be as well to bear in mind how we stand toward each other.” “As enemies, open and declared,” cried Corrigan, fiercely.