The horror which we have described as having fallen upon this unfortunate young man, during Sir Thomas Gourlay's stormy interview with the stranger, so far from subsiding, as might be supposed, after his departure, assumed the shape of something bordering on insanity. On looking at his companion, the wild but deep expression of his eyes began to change into one of absolute frenzy, a circumstance which could not escape the stranger's observation, and which, placed as he was in the pursuit of an important secret, awoke a still deeper interest, whilst at the same time it occasioned him much pain. “Mr. Fenton,” said he, “I certainly have no wish, by any proceeding incompatible with an ungentlemanly feeling of impertinent curiosity, to become acquainted with the cause of this unusual excitement, which the appearance of Miss Gourlay and her father seems to produce upon you, unless in so far as its disclosure, in honorable confidence, might enable me, as a person sincerely your friend, to allay or remove it.” “Suppose, sir, you are mistaken.” replied the other--“Do you not know that there are memories arising from association, that are touched and kindled into great pain, by objects that are by no means the direct cause of them, or the cause of them in any sense?” “I admit the truth of what you say, Mr. Fenton; but we can only draw our first inferences from appearances. It is not from any idle or prurient desire to become acquainted with the cause of your emotion that I speak, but simply from a wish to serve you, if you will permit me. It is distressing to witness what you suffer.” “I have experienced,” said Fenton, whose excitement seemed not only to rise as he proceeded, but in a considerable degree to give that fervor and elevation to his language, which excitement often gives; “yes, sir,” he proceeded, his eyes kindling almost into fury, “I have experienced much treacherous and malignant sympathy, under the guise of pretended friendship--sympathy! why do I say sympathy? Persecution--vengeance. Yes, sir, till I have become mad--or--or nearly so. No,” he added, “I am not mad--I never was mad--but I understand your object--avaunt, sir--begone--or I shall throw you out of the window.” “Be calm, Mr. Fenton--be calm,” replied the stranger, “and collect yourself. I am, indeed, sincerely your friend.” “Who told you, sir, that I was mad?” “I never said so, Mr. Fenton.” “It matters not, sir--you are a traitor--and as such I denounce you. This room is mine, sir, and I shall forthwith expel you from it--” and, as he spoke, he started up, and sprung at the stranger, who, on seeing him rise for the purpose, instantly rang the bell. The waiter immediately entered, and found the latter holding poor Fenton by the two wrists, and with such a tremendous grasp as made him feel like an infant, in point of strength, in his hands.