“This is mere child’s play, Mr. Howard--or Percival--or whatever your name may be!” cried Torrens. “You have got money--and you wish me to believe you poor. For myself, I _am_ poor--so poor that I have but wherewith to obtain a meal and a bed for one night. It is true that I have a daughter and a son-in-law in London;--and it is likewise true that necessity--stern, imperious necessity has driven me at last to this city to seek assistance at their hands. But for nine years have I remained as one dead to them: for nine years have I wandered about the world, caring not what might become of me, and wishing to be believed dead in all reality by my daughter who suspects that I have been very criminal, and by my son-in-law who knows that I have! Yes--yes: I have purposely left them in uncertainty relative to me--unhappy man that I am,--purposely left them so, I say, in order that they may apprehend the worst! Stern want, however, was driving me to them when I encountered you: to-morrow morning I should have appeared in their presence,--in the presence of the daughter whom I do not love, and of her husband whom I hate--_hate_, for his very virtues, and because he knows me to be so vile!” added the old man, bitterly. “But now, sir, that I have met with you, your purse must save me the pain--the humiliation--the annoyance of encountering those beings face to face! Come, Mr. Percival--I have spoken to you frankly: do you be equally candid with me.” “Candid in what?” demanded the individual thus addressed. “In respect to your own means and resources,” returned Torrens. “I do not wish to be hard upon you; but a portion of the money that you robbed me of, I must and will have.” “These are harsh words--and unavailing, too,” said Percival: “for I have not a sixpence to bless myself with! But,” he added, with a malicious grin, “if I cannot give you money, I may perhaps impart a piece of agreeable intelligence.” “What! to me?” exclaimed Torrens, in a tone of surprise. “Yes--to you. What would you think if I were to tell you that your dearly-beloved wife was in London at this very moment, and passing under the aristocratic name of Fitzhardinge?” “My wife!” repeated Torrens, turning positively livid as these words struck upon his ears. “No--impossible! I would not meet that dreadful woman for thousands of pounds!” “Then if you remain here you will assuredly encounter her,” said Percival; “for I received a note from her this evening announcing her intention to honour me with a visit,” he added, intently watching the effect which these words produced upon his companion. “Villain! you are endeavouring to get rid of me as speedily as possible!” cried Torrens, almost foaming at the mouth with rage.