_His only sister miserably died A mad and an unwilling bride, Her husband she did try to slay, The devil snatched her clear away And tore her raving limb from limb, Long had she sold her soul to him—_ Mr. Wedderburn suddenly clenched his hand on the table, his eyes were very dark, his face very pale. “Fine matter for your hawkers to shout and the gutter scum to read,” he said thickly, “Go on.” _His brother, seeing clear his end, (Indeed he knew that God would send The same unto them all) Vowed he would Jack Ketch forestall And so himself he hanged._ Sir Perseus paused to turn the paper, glancing up he noticed the face of the man opposite. “Sir,” he asked curiously, “why do you so look at me?” “For what reason save interest,” answered Mr. Wedderburn, in no way altering his steady gaze. “Will you not continue?” “If it interests you,” Sir Perseus spoke uneasily. “Mr. Caryl is late.” “An unpardonable fault,” cried the other imperiously. “But I pray you—continue this pleasant reading.” He pushed his chair from the table, his right hand had slipped to his sword-hilt; he was leaning back very easily, yet something about him made Sir Perseus hesitate, yet impelled to fill the pause, he recommenced: _His children, were devils born Who laughed God to scorn Once, in childish play, One did the other slay. Their father came, and smiled to see, The red blood run so merrily. Think you it gave HIM pain To see his son a second Cain?_ Sir Perseus paused, watchful of his companion, but Mr. Wedderburn sat very quietly; as though indeed he was not listening. Sir Perseus, however, preferred passing the time in reading rather than in further conversation; with a fervent, silent wish for Jerome Caryl, he droned on: _His wife too felt little grief Or else she quickly found relief— For her youngest newly dead A merry life she led And did her consolation take In loving of a Hell-cat rake A man with all the vices rife A lover fit for the Master’s wife—_ “A moment, sir.” Mr. Wedderburn leaned forward in a manner, that, although still quiet, stopped Sir Perseus instantly. “Where do you get your information, sir?” he asked. Sir Perseus put down the pamphlet. “Why, from common talk,” he said. “Common talk!” cried the other in a strange voice, “so these things are common talk! And this last of your gutter lies, is that common, too?” “So common, sir, that you should know it,” answered Sir Perseus, firing. “’Tis public property, God knows.”