"Persecute you! Well, that is clever!—Talk of gratitude again in this world! I took you when you were a miserable foundling, a wretched little baby, without father, mother, or name. I placed you in the quiet of a country town, where you received an elegant education. I gave you a name,—a fancy name, I admit—the name which you now wear—and when I visited you, once or twice a year, you called me by the name of father. How I gained money to support you these nineteen or twenty years, and to adorn that fine intellect of yours, with a finished education,—why, you don't know, and I scarcely can tell, myself. But after these years of protection and support, I appeared at your home in the country, and asked a simple favor at your hands. Ay, child, the man you delighted to call father asked in return for all that he had done for you, a favor—only one favor—and that of the simplest character. Where was your gratitude? You refused me; you fled from your home in the country, and I lost sight of you until to-night, when I find my lost lamb, in the employment of the rich merchant. His private secretary, forsooth!"
"Hush," exclaimed Gulian, with a deprecatory gesture, "You will wake Mr. Somers. He has had one convulsion already, and it may prove fatal. I have sent for a doctor,—oh, why does he not come?"
"You shall not avoid me in that way, my young friend," said Tarleton. He laid his hand on the arm of the boy, and bent his face so near to him that the latter felt the Colonel's breath upon his forehead. "The money which I bestowed upon your education, I obtained by what the world calls felony. For you—for you—" his voice sunk to a deeper tone, and his eyes flashed with anger; "for you I spent some years in that delightful retreat, which is known to vulgar ears by the word,—Penitentiary!"
"God help me," cried the boy, affrighted by the expression which stamped the Colonel's face.
"Penitentiary or jail, call it what you will, I spent some years there for your sake. And do you wish to evade me now when, I tell you that I reared you but for one object, and that object dearer to me than life? You ran away from my guardianship; you attempt to conceal yourself from me; you attempt to foil the hope for which I have suffered the tortures of the damned these twenty years? Come, my boy, you'll think better of it."
The smile of the Colonel was altogether fiendish. The boy sank on his knees, and raised to the Colonel's gaze that beautiful face stamped with terror, and bathed in tears.
"Oh, pardon me—forgive me!" he cried, "Do not kill me—"
"Kill you! Pshaw!"
"Let me live an obscure life, away from your observation; let me be humble, poor and unknown; as you value the hope of salvation, do not—I beseech you on my knees—do not ask me to comply with your request!"
"If you don't get up, I may be tempted to strike you," was the brutal remark of the Colonel. "Pitiful wretch! Hark ye," he bent his head,—"the robber who this night murdered Evelyn Somers, gained admittance to this house by means of a night-key. He had an accomplice in the house, who supplied him with the key. That accomplice, (let us suppose a case) was yourself—"