“Well, I’ve had enough of it now. I’m going back to Carstow, where I’ve left a good little girl dying for love of me. I’m going to settle down to quiet respectability and forget that I ever saw your cursed face.” “And on what money do you propose to do this?” “That’s my affair.” “No; mine.” Rees had miscalculated the old man’s activity, as well as his patience. Having been in the habit of treating Goodhare with impertinence, which the ex-librarian always bore without protest, the short-sighted and vain young man thought he need set no bounds to his pertness. But as a matter of fact, every insult, every slight which he had ever put upon his accomplished tutor in evil-doing, had been stored up in the mind of the latter, who only waited to destroy his tool until he should have no further need for it. That time he thought had now come. Maddened by the shedding of blood--that last crime which he had tried within the past hour--Goodhare gave rein to the demoniacal side of his nature, and showed all the hatred and contempt, which had been gathering in his mind against the young man since their connection first began, in one look, one exclamation which turned the young man’s blood cold, even before he felt the sinewy grip of the lean fingers about his throat. “I’ll serve you,” he growled, “as I’ve just served a better man.” And, drawing from one of his pockets the same knife with which he had stabbed Lord St. Austell, he made a dash at Rees Pennant’s breast. But the young man was more alert than the old one had been. He flung out his hands, struck, struggled, and writhed to such good purpose that his assailant could not despatch him with the neatness he had shown in his attack on the earl. It was not until the third stab that Rees fell back with a groan, and slipping from Goodhare’s murderous hands, sank on to the nearest bench, and thence in a heap on to the floor. The sight of the young fellow’s body, and the red stain that was spreading on the matting at his feet, seemed to sober Goodhare and bring him for the first time to a knowledge of his position. He glanced at the door, for he thought he heard sounds outside. Then, kneeling hastily down by Rees Pennant’s motionless body, he ransacked all the pockets of the young man’s clothes with eager, swift fingers. He had fancied that in them he should find the jewels, believing that Rees had either gone shares with Sep in them, or appropriated them all, with the idea that such audacity would never be suspected. Finding no trace of either jewels or money, beyond a handful of loose silver, Goodhare started to his feet, for the first time utterly horror-struck and confounded. Had he really lost his best chance of recovering the jewels? For Rees Pennant’s influence over Sep was infinitely greater than his own; besides, the story of Sep’s escape might be true. With real solicitude he stooped over the silent huddled-up figure on the floor. “Rees, Rees, old boy!” he cried, in a voice full of anxiety.