“Remember, however, what I told you: he can be a terrible enemy.”
Cashel smiled calmly as he said, “I have consorted with men whose vengeance never took longer to acquit than the time occupied in drawing a knife from the sleeve or a pistol from the girdle. I care very little for him whose weapon is mere subtlety.”
“It is this over-confidence makes me fear for you,” said she, anxiously; “for, I say again, you do not know him.”
“I wish I never had,” said Cashel, with an earnestness of voice and accent. “He has involved me in a hundred pursuits for which I feel neither taste nor enjoyment. To him I owe it that pleasure is always associated in my mind with mere debauch; and the only generosity he has taught me has been the spendthrift waste of the gaming-table.”
“Could you not find out something of him,—when he went, and in what direction?” said she, anxiously. “I cannot tell you why, but my heart misgives me about his departure.”
More in compliance with her scruples than that he deemed the matter worth a thought, Cashel left the room to make inquiries from the servants; but all he could learn was, that Mr. Linton arose before daybreak and left the house on foot, his own servant not knowing in what direction, nor having heard anything of his master's previous intention.
His intimacy with the family at the cottage left it possible that they might know something of his movements and Cashel accordingly despatched a messenger thither to ask; but with the same fruitless result as every previous inquiry.
While Cashel was following up this search with a degree of interest that increased as the difficulty augmented, he little knew how watchfully his every word and gesture was noted down by one who stood at his side. This was Mr. Phillis, who, while seeming to participate in his master's astonishment, threw out from time to time certain strange, vague hints, less suggestive of his own opinions than as baits to attract those of his master.
“Very odd, indeed, sir,—very strange; so regular a gentleman, too,—always rising at the same hour. His man says, he 's like the clock. To be sure,” added he, after a pause, “his manner is changed of late.”
“How do you mean?” asked Cashel, hurriedly.