“My dear Reilly,” replied Mr. Brown, “be calm; your house and premises are, at this moment, one dark heap of smouldering ruins.” “Oh, yes--I understand,” replied Reilly--“Sir Robert Whitecraft.” “Sir Robert Whitecraft,” replied Mr. Brown; “it is too true, Reilly--you are now houseless and homeless; and may God forgive him!” Reilly got up and paced the room several times, then sat down, and filling himself a glass of wine, drank it off; then looking at each of them, said, in a voice rendered hoarse by the indignation and resentment which he felt himself compelled, out of respect for his kind friends, to restrain, “Gentlemen,” he repeated, “what do _you_ call this” “Malice--persecution--vengeance,” replied Mr. Brown, whose resentment was scarcely less than that of Reilly himself. “In the presence of God, and before all the world. I would pronounce it one of the most diabolical acts ever committed in the history of civil society. But you have one consolation, Reilly; your money and papers are safe.” “It is not that,” replied Reilly; “I think not of them. It is the vindictive and persecuting spirit of that man--that monster--and the personal motives from which he acts, that torture me, and that plant in my heart a principle of vengeance more fearful than his. But you do not understand me, gentlemen; I could smile at all he has done to myself yet. It is of the serpent-tooth which will destroy the peace of others, that I think. All these motives being considered, what do you think that man deserves at my hand?” “My dear Reilly,” said the clergyman, “recollect that there is a Providence; and that we cannot assume to ourselves the disposition of His judgments, or the knowledge of His wisdom. Have patience. Your situation is one of great distress and almost unexampled difficulty. At all events, you are, for the present, safe under this roof; and although I grant you have much to suffer, still you have a free conscience, and, I dare say, would not exchange your position for that of your persecutor.” “No,” said Reilly; “most assuredly not--most assuredly not; no, not for worlds. Yet is it not strange, gentlemen, that that man will sleep sound and happily to-night, whilst I will lie upon a bed of thorns?” At this moment Mrs. Brown tapped gently at the door, which was cautiously opened by her husband. “John,” said she, “here is a note which I was desired to give to you without a moment's delay.” “Thank you, my love; I will read it instantly.”.