“I believe you to be capable of any villainy,” returned the now infuriated Torrens, whose ears had caught the sense of those low mutterings. “But I shall not lose sight of you until I have received full and complete satisfaction for the wrongs I endured at your hands many years ago. And that you are able to give such satisfaction, your appearance proves full well,” he added, as his eye caught a glimpse of the gold chain and massive seals which depended from the other’s fob.
“Mr. Torrens—I will no longer attempt to conceal a fact of which you are so well assured. I am the Howard to whom you allude: but, in the name of God! do not ruin me—do not expose me. Here—this is my dwelling,” he continued, pointing to one of the two houses in front of which this colloquy took place: “walk in with me—and—and we will converse at our ease——”
“Yes—I will accompany you,” said Mr. Torrens, in a laconic manner: “lead the way, sir.”
Mr. Howard drew forth a small key from his pocket, and with it opened the iron gate of the railings in front of the house. Torrens followed him across the little enclosure; and with another and larger key he opened the door of the dark and gloomy-looking dwelling. No domestic appeared; and the lawyer, entering the parlour, groped about in the dark until he found some lucifer-matches—Torrens remaining all the while in the passage. At length a light was obtained; and the visitor was requested to enter the room, which, by means of the one poor candle that now threw a feeble gleam around, appeared to be but indifferently furnished,—so that the aspect of the small and cheerless house somewhat damped the hopes which Torrens had entertained of compelling the individual whom he had thus accidentally encountered, to disgorge the sum embezzled by him upwards of nineteen years previously.
“Do you live all alone here?” he demanded, taking the seat to which Howard pointed.
“Yes—all alone,” was the reply. “I am too poor to keep a servant.”
“Too poor!” exclaimed Mr. Torrens, his heart sinking within him.
“Yes, indeed! How should I be possessed of any money?” said Howard, glancing around with nervous anxiety, as if he were afraid of being overheard. “From the moment that I was forced, by unexpected reverses and sudden misfortunes, to fly from London, I have led a life of continued struggles; and although, a few years ago, I was venturous enough to return to the metropolis and settle in this little cottage, which I got at a cheap rent as it was only just built,—yet my affairs have not improved——”
“But you must have some means of subsistence?—you pursue some avocation?—you doubtless continue to practise——”
“No—no,” interrupted Howard, hastily. “I have been compelled to change my name—and it is as Mr. Percival—poor Mr. Percival—that I am known in this neighbourhood.”