“Then,” said Gilbert, “it's hardly likely that he's the same friend you took such a fancy to, at the Hammer-and-Trowel, last spring?” Alfred Barton started as if he had been shot, and a deep color spread over his face. His lower jaw slackened and his eyes moved uneasily from side to side. “Who--who do you mean?” he stammered. The more evident his embarrassment became, the more Gilbert was confirmed in his suspicion that there was some secret understanding between the two men. The thing seemed incredible, but the same point, he remembered had occurred to Martha Deane's mind, when she so readily explained the other circumstances. “Barton,” he said, sternly, “you know very well whom I mean. What became of your friend Fortune? Didn't you see him at the tavern, last Monday morning?” “Y-yes--oh, yes! I know who he is _now_, the damned scoundrel! I'd give a hundred dollars to see him dance upon nothing!” He clenched his fists, and uttered a number of other oaths, which need not be repeated. His rage seemed so real that Gilbert was again staggered. Looking at the heavy, vulgar face before him,--the small, restless eyes, the large sensuous mouth, the forehead whose very extent, in contradiction to ordinary laws, expressed imbecility rather than intellect, it was impossible to associate great cunning and shrewdness with such a physiognomy. Every line, at that moment, expressed pain and exasperation. But Gilbert felt bound to go a step further. “Barton,” he said, “didn't you know who Fortune was, on that day?” “N-no--no! On that _day_--NO! Blast me if I did!” “Not before you left him?” “Well, I'll admit that a suspicion of it came to me at the very last moment--too late to be of any use. But come, damme! that's all over, and what's the good o' talking? _You_ tried your best to catch the fellow, too, but he was too much for you! 'T isn't such an easy job, eh?” This sort of swagger was Alfred Barton's only refuge, when he was driven into a corner. Though some color still lingered in his face, he spread his shoulders with a bold, almost defiant air, and met Gilbert's eye with a steady gaze. The latter was not prepared to carry his examination further, although he was still far from being satisfied. “Come, come, Gilbert!” Barton presently resumed, “I mean no offence. You showed yourself to be true blue, and you led the hunt as well as any man could ha' done; but the very thought o' the fellow makes me mad, and I'll know no peace till he's strung up. If I was your age, now! A man seems to lose his spirit as he gets on in years, and I'm only sorry you weren't made captain at the start, instead o' me. You _shall_ be, from this time on; I won't take it again!” “One thing I'll promise you,” said Gilbert, with a meaning look, “that I won't let him walk into the bar-room of the Unicorn, without hindrance.” “I'll bet you won't!” Barton exclaimed. “All _I'm_ afraid of is, that he won't try it again.”