"Listen to me, sir, and attend," said the old man, gravely and calmly, "for it is the last time I shall ever degrade myself by addressing so contemptible a trickster!" "Trickster, Sir Percival!" I exclaimed. "Your injurious language----" "I said trickster," he continued, with a mock bow. "All has now been discovered; the secret meetings in the Park, the artful plans you have laid to worm yourself into the affections of a silly and _wealthy_ young girl, luring her heart from the man--the gentleman, I mean--she is to marry; causing the delay of that marriage; making scandal and gossip even among the menials of my own household. Miss Chalcot, sir, has been sent to the Continent, and I hereby inform you that if you venture to follow, to trace, to speak with, or to write to her, THIS is but a small instalment of what is in store for you!" And ere I could think or act, the savagely-proud old man had snatched up a heavy riding-whip that lay at hand, and dealt me two severe cuts fairly across the face, almost laying it open, as if with a sword blade. "Madman!" I exclaimed; "dare you strike me?" "I _have_ struck you twice, sir," said he, with a disdainful smile, as he reseated himself. "You are old, and your white hairs protect you; but you have a son, and I'll have him out at Chalk Farm"--it was really Chalk Farm _then_--"and--and--but, oh heaven!--he is the brother of Gertrude!" "Bah! I thought so, you presumptuous beggar! Go--go! or I shall chastise you again. Go, I say! and remember well my words and my warning!" I was trying to say something--I know not what--when the door opened and his son appeared with several servants, and before I could speak, I was thrust, dragged, beaten by many clenched hands, and forcibly expelled--yea, literally spurned--into the public street--I, Frederick Mortimer, M.D., &c., &c. Right well did they know--old Chalcot and his son--that the very magnitude and depth of the insult to which they subjected me would protect them, and that, for her sake, they might have torn me limb from limb without revenge on my part. Yet every nerve and fibre tingled with shame and passion as I crossed the street, and while endeavouring to conceal my discoloured and lacerated face by my handkerchief, sought the seclusion of the park opposite, going to the very place where I was wont to meet my lost Gertrude, and where the charm of her presence seemed to hover still. But where was she? There I remained for some hours, in a state difficult to conceive. The insults to which I had been subjected drove me to the verge of insanity. My situation was unique, and I cannot now analyse or describe all the emotions that surged through my brain--memory furnishes nothing that will connect them. But there were rage and shame, grief, hatred, and love, and sorrow. It was here but yesterday she had said, prophetically, "To-morrow should end all!" And all was _ended, indeed_!