"You hear this man," he said, "you hear him, yet you surely do not believe one word he utters. Look in his face, on which 'liar' is branded in unmistakable characters, by the hand of Heaven; and then believe him if you can. My patron, my benefactor, friend and protector of my otherwise friendless youth, has any one action of my life, since I have shared the shelter of your roof, and eaten your bread--has any one action of my life given you reason to believe me the base and guilty wretch this man would have you think me? Speak, I implore you." The young Mexican waited with clasped hands for Don Juan's reply. The Spaniard coldly averted his face. It seemed as if he, too, shrank from meeting that noble countenance. "Circumstances speak too plainly, Mr. Lisimon," he said; "facts are incontrovertible--they are stronger than words, and they force me to believe." "They force you to believe that the man who has been reared beneath your own protection, has been guilty of an act worthy of one of the swell-mobsmen, or experienced burglars of New Orleans. One word more, Don Juan Moraquitos--it is the last with which I shall trouble you." "I listen," replied the Spaniard. "I appeal to you by the memory of the dead--by the memory of him who was more than a father to me--by the memory of the last hour of Don Tomaso Crivelli." It seemed as if the sound of this name struck upon the most sensitive chord in the nature of the haughty Spaniard. He started as if he had been shot, and dropping into a chair that stood near him, buried his face in his hands. Silas Craig lifted his eyes with a glance of pious horror. "This is horrible!" he exclaimed; "the guilty wretch dares to call upon the name of the dead, dares to wound his noble benefactor's sensitive heart. Why delay any longer to reason with this hypocrite? The officers of justice are without, let them at once do their duty." Silas Craig opened the door of the apartment as he spoke, and beckoned to three men who were waiting on the staircase. "The police!" exclaimed Paul. "Yes; they have a warrant for your arrest," replied Silas Craig. "You have carried it with a very high hand, Mr. Paul Lisimon, but you will sleep in jail to-night." The young Mexican did not condescend to answer this speech, but, turning to Don Juan, he said with quiet dignity-- "Since this man's accusation appears to you stronger than my declaration of innocence, I cannot blame you, sir, in believing him. I freely own that the chain of evidence forged against me is a damning one, but, sooner or later, the day will come when I will shatter that chain, link by link, and prove yonder wretch the basest of his kind. In the meantime, I would ask one favor of you. I have papers and letters in my room, which are of priceless value to me, suffer me to gather those together before they convey me to prison."