'Not a friend of his!' ejaculated Rhoneland; 'then what brings you _here_? Don't you know that I am his friend?--an old friend? He calls me his best friend.' Grosket's lip curled, as he answered: '_That_ friendship has lasted too long for the good of one of you. I need not mention who that one is. I am come to end it. He was my friend once. God save me from another like him! God! how he loved me!' said he, setting his teeth; 'and in return,' added he, in a cold tone, 'don't I love him now? Such a love! Give me but life and liberty, life and liberty,' said he, dropping his assumed tone, and breaking out in a burst of fierce vehemence, 'and by every hope that man can have, I swear to crush him; to grind him to the earth, body and soul; to blight him as he has blighted others; and as far as man can do so, to thwart every scheme, wither every hope, and to make him drag out his life, a vile, spurned, detested object, hated by man, driven from the pale of society, with every transgression stamped upon him, and beyond redemption in this world! What his prospects may be hereafter, none can tell but HIM.' He raised his hat reverently as he spoke, and his tone from high excitement, calmed into deep solemnity. 'My errand here,' said he, turning to Rhoneland, 'is simple; my story a short one. I was Michael Rust's friend--his tool, if you will. Through his agency I am a beggar, and my wife and child are in their graves. This did not satisfy him. I am now arrested at his suit for a debt of three thousand dollars, of which I know nothing. I cannot pay it. I have not that sum in the world; but I cannot go to prison. It would frustrate all my views. I must be at large to work. Let me have but a month of freedom, and Michael Rust will be glad to exonerate me from all claims, and to beg me on his knees to stand his friend. I am come to ask you to be my bail. The sum is six thousand dollars.' 'Me! _me!_' exclaimed Rhoneland; 'ME your bail! and against Michael Rust!--my friend Rust! Oh, no; never, never!' 'It's more for your interest than mine,' replied Grosket, calmly. 'If you do not, you'll repent it.' Rhoneland twisted his fingers one in the other, and looked irresolutely at his daughter, and at the deputy, and then at Grosket, as if seeking counsel in their faces. At last he said, in a querulous tone: 'You're a stranger to me. I don't know you. Why do you speak in riddles? Why do you come here to harass a broken-down old man? What do you mean?'