“You don’t know me, or you wouldn’t say that.” “I do. You’re Smithers & Co.” “True; and I’m several other people. I’ve had the pleasure of an extended intercourse with you. For I’m not only Smithers & Co., but I’m also Beamish & Hendricks, American merchants. I’m also Bigelow, Higginson, & Co., solicitors to Smithers & Co. Besides, I’m your London broker, who attended to your speculations in stocks. Perhaps you think that you don’t know me after all.” As he said this Potts and John exchanged glances of wonder. “Tricked!” cried Potts--“deceived! humbugged! and ruined! Who are you? What have you against me? Who are you? Who?” And he gazed with intense curiosity upon the calm face of the stranger, who, in his turn, looked upon him with the air of one who was surveying from a superior height some feeble creature far beneath him. “Who am I?” he repeated. “Who? I am the one to whom all this belongs. I am one whom you have injured so deeply, that what I have done to you is nothing in comparison.” “Who are you?” cried Potts, with feverish impatience. “It’s a lie. I never injured you. I never saw you before till you came yourself to trouble me. Those whom I have injured are all dead, except that parson, the son of--of the officer.” “There are others.” Potts said nothing, but looked with some fearful discovery dawning upon him. “You know me now!” cried the stranger. “I see it in your face.” “You’re not _him_!” exclaimed Potts, in a piercing voice. “I am LOUIS BRANDON!” “I knew it! I knew it!” cried John, in a voice which was almost a shriek. “Cigole played false. I’ll make him pay for this,” gasped Potts. “Cigole did not play false. He killed me as well as he could--But away, both of you. I can not breathe while you are here. I will allow you an hour to be gone.” At the end of the hour Brandon of Brandon Hall was at last master in the home of his ancestors. CHAPTER LIII. THE COTTAGE. When Despard had bound Clark he returned to look after Langhetti. He lay feebly and motionless upon the ground. Despard carefully examined his wounds. His injuries were very severe. His arms were lacerated, and his shoulder torn; blood also was issuing from a wound on the side of his neck. Despard bound these as best he could, and then sat wondering what could be done next. He judged that he might be four or five miles from Denton, and saw that this was the place to which he must go. Besides, Beatrice was there, and she could nurse Langhetti. But how could he get there?--that was the question. It was impossible for Langhetti to go on horseback. He tried to form some plan by which this might be done. He began to make a sort of litter to be hung between two horses, and had already cut down with his knife two small trees or rather bushes for this purpose, when the noise of wheels on the road before him attracted his attention.