“That you deemed fit to watch me. Be it so. I have few secrets from any one; I have none from my friends. You shall hear, therefore what—without my knowing it—has made me appear unusually agitated. It was my intention to leave this house to-morrow, Phillis, and in the preparation for my departure I was arranging my letters and papers, among which I found a very considerable quantity that prudence would consign to the flames,—that is to say, if prudence were to be one-sided, and had only regard for the interests of one individual where there were two concerned. In plain language, Phillis, I was just about to burn the mass of documents which fill that iron safe, and which it were to the honor and credit of Mr. Phillis should be reduced to charcoal as speedily as may be, the same being nothing more nor less than the accounts of that 'honest steward,' pinned to the real and bona fide bills of Mr. Cashel's tradespeople. There are, it is true, strange little discrepancies between the two, doubtless capable of satisfactory explanation, but which, to plain-thinking men like myself, are difficult to reconcile; and in some one or two instances—a wine merchant's account, for example, and a saddler's bill—savor somewhat of that indiscreet procedure people call forgery. What a mistake—what an inadvertence, Phillis!”
There was something of almost coaxing familiarity in the way Linton uttered the last words; and Phillis grew sick at heart as he listened to them.
“A moment more, an instant later, and I had thrown them into the fire; but your footsteps, as you walked away, sounded too purpose-like; you were so palpably honest that I began to suspect you. Eh, Phillis, was I right?”
Phillis essayed a smile, but his features only accomplished a ghastly grin.
“I will keep them, therefore, where they are,” said Linton. “These impulses of rash generosity are very costly pleasures; and there is no such good practical economy as to husband one's confidence.”
“I 'm sure, sir, I never thought I should have seen the day—”
“Go on, man; don't falter. What day do you mean?—that on which you had attempted to outwit me; or, that on which I should show you all the peril of your attempting it? Ay, and there is peril, Mr. Phillis: a felony whose punishment is transportation for life is no small offence.”
“Oh, sir!—oh, Mr. Linton, forgive me!” cried the other, in the most abject voice. “I always believed that my devotion to your interests would claim your protection.”
“I never promised to further anything that was base or dishonest,” said Linton, with an air of assumed morality.
“You opened and read letters that were addressed to another; you spied his actions, and kept watch upon all his doings; you wrote letters in his name, and became possessed of every secret of his life by treachery; you—”