He sat, now pondering over his own destiny, now wondering whither the course of events to come was tending, when he heard the plash of oars, and the rushing sound of a boat moving through the water in the direction of the stair. The oars, which at some moments were plied vigorously, ceased to move at others; and, as well as Cashel could mark, the course of the boat seemed once or twice to be changed. Roland descended to the lowest step of the ladder, the better to see what this might portend. That terrible river, on whose smiling eddies the noonday sun dances so joyously, covers beneath the shadow of night crimes the most awful and appalling. As Cashel listened, he perceived that the rowing had ceased, and two voices, whose accents sounded like altercation, could be heard. The boat, drifting meanwhile downward on the fast current, was now nearly opposite to where he sat, but only perceptible as a dark speck upon the water. The night was calm, without a breath of wind, and on the vapor-charged atmosphere sounds floated dull and heavily; still Cashel could hear the harsh tones of men in angry dispute, and to his amazement they spoke in English. “It's the old story,” cried one, whose louder voice and coarser accents bespoke him the inferior in condition--“the old story that I am sick of listening to--when you have luck! when you have luck!” “I used not to have a complaint against Fortune,” said the other. “Before we met, she had treated me well for many a year.” “And 'twas me that changed it, I suppose,” said the first, in the same insolent tone as before; “do you mean that?” “The world has gone ill with me since that day.” “And whose fault is that?” “Partly yours,” said the other, in a slow, deliberate voice, every syllable of which thrilled through Cashers heart as he listened. “Had you secured the right man, it was beyond the power of Fortune to hurt either of us. That fatal, fatal mistake!” “How could I help it?” cried the other, energetically; “the night was as dark as this--it was between two high banks--there was nothing to be seen but a figure of a man coming slowly along--you yourself told me who it would be--I did n't wait for more; and troth!”--here he gave a fiendish laugh--“troth! you'll allow the work was well done.” “It was a most determined murder,” said the other, thoughtfully. “Murder! murder!” screamed the first, in a voice of fierce passion; “and is it you that calls it a murder?” “No matter how it is called. Let us speak of something else.” “Very well. Let us talk about the price of it. It is n't paid yet!”