"I knew it, and no proof was needed," groaned my father, sinking back again. "And not only hath he robbed me, but he most likely heard and saw all that passed between us here this very morning. Oh, Michael, Michael! to think that you, my son, should thus have failed me!" He wrung his hands. "Yes, yes! and I will make amends for it," I answered fiercely, as, hand on sword, I turned towards the door. "Stay! whither go you?" cried my father. "To seek this fellow out," I answered savagely. "To find him, and--to kill him." "Then save yourself the trouble," rejoined my father firmly. "Two follies never made a wise thing yet, and never will. And this were rankest folly. For, look you, this fellow Ammon will be far away by now; aye, verily, perchance aboard ship, making for his master." "Not so," said I, "for his master is already here in Lyme." "What!" cried the old man, springing to his feet. "Ferguson in England?" "Yes, he landed with Monmouth here to-night." And in a few hot, breathless words I told him all that I had seen and heard that day; while he paced to and fro, now stopping for a moment, now spreading out his hands, and all the time casting wild, hunted glances round the room. "Michael," he said when I had finished, "the bolt is shot, and nothing now can save me from the gallows; nay, verily, I feel the noose about my neck already." "No, no!" I cried out in my desperation. "Say not that. I cannot bear it. There is still hope that naught may come of it." "There--is--no--hope," replied my father, slowly. "Whatever comes of this rebellion, Ferguson will still have power to bring me to account--to crush me! Nor will he stay his hand. I know him well. To be avenged is very life to him. Yes, Ferguson the Plotter will have vengeance! There is no hope! Oh, why is this? Why have I lived to see this awful day?" Clenching his hands, he raised them high above his head, and stood before me thus--a haunting picture of despair and anguish, awful to remember. It seemed as though the hands were raised to curse me; but it was not so, for, as I stood there with bowed head, they came down gently on my shoulders. "Michael," he said, "take not this thing too much to heart. You spoke truly--I have judged you harshly. The fault is mine, not yours; for had I not first trafficked with this Ferguson, for the sake of usury, for filthy lucre, this had not happened. Yes, yes, the fault is mine, and whatever evil comes of it, no harm shall come to you. I swear it. Forget my hasty words." A curse had been much easier to bear than this. "Nay, sir, I will not have it so," I almost shouted. "The fault is mine. I have been faithless, as you said, and would now make amends for it. What can be done?" "Hush!" said my father gently. "Naught can be done--to-night. I would think this matter over quietly, alone, here. Therefore, leave me, Michael; go to rest. We may see clearer in the morning. Good-night, my son!"