"Who can say that you did not fulfil your promise?" repeated the highwayman, in a slow—deliberate—bitter tone, while his eyes appeared to send daggers to the heart of the old man bound helplessly in the chair. "There is damning evidence against you in that respect!" "Where?—how?" ejaculated Old Death. "You shall soon learn," replied Rainford. "The nobleman who had _purchased_ your half-sister, provided liberally for the support of her child—_their_ child—and gave a large sum to be used for the offspring of that sad connexion. But you——" "I—I did my duty—towards the child," stammered Old Death, "till—it died——" "Liar!" thundered Rainford, advancing in an appallingly menacing manner towards the helpless, captive wretch. "You sold the child to a tribe of gipsies——" "Mercy! mercy!" groaned Old Death. "Do not kill me, Tom—do not hurt me! I am in your power—spare me!" Rainford had raised his pistol as if to dash the butt-end against the forehead of the old man: but, mastering his passion, he consigned the weapon to his pocket—for he was afraid to trust his hand with it while his excitement was so terrible. "Mercy, indeed!" exclaimed Rainford in a tone of bitter hatred, not unmingled with contempt: "what mercy did you show towards that hapless child? When Octavia Manners was on her death-bed, that nobleman to whom you sold her virtue, visited her—implored her forgiveness—and placed in your hands a thousand guineas to ensure a provision for the boy." [Illustration] "My God!" ejaculated Old Death, a terrible suspicion now flashing like lightning to his mind: "how can you know all this?—even if——you, yourself——" "Yes—_I_ am the son of that nobleman and your half-sister Octavia!" cried Rainford, placing himself in front of Old Death, on whom he gazed with eyes flashing fire from beneath sternly contracted brows. "Spare me—spare me!" murmured the wretched man, hanging down his head—for the glances of his injured nephew seemed to scorch and sear his very heart's core. "Look up—look up!" thundered the highwayman; "and meet the gaze of him whom, when a child, you sold to gipsies—sold, that you might grasp all the gold which was supplied to you for my benefit! Yes—you sold me to strangers—even making a profit of me by the very way in which you rid yourself of my presence in your dwelling! Had it not been for your treachery—your vile avarice in this respect, I might have grown up to be an honest man. But, no—no," added Rainford bitterly—and a tear trembled on his eye-lash,—"had you kept me with you, I should have been worse—aye, a myriad, myriad times worse than I even now am!" At the imperious command of the highwayman, Old Death had raised his head; and Rainford then beheld a countenance so fearfully distorted with varied emotions, that he felt he was already partially avenged in having been able to produce such a powerful effect on that aged—that inveterate sinner.