“Yes—I cannot close my eyes to that fact,” observed Heathcote, actually wringing his hands.
“And therefore you are ruined—totally ruined,” returned Green, with a demoniac smile of triumph.
“Ruined—totally ruined!” repeated Heathcote, with that mechanical unconsciousness which is indicative of despair—blank despair.
“Not only ruined in pocket, but in character likewise,” resumed Green, his tone becoming merciless—nay, absolutely savage and ferocious. “That long trial of yesterday—a trial which occupied eight hours—revealed you in your true colours to all the world. The counsel whom I employed, tore you to pieces. All your chicanery was unravelled—all your manœvres traced, followed up, and exposed—all your fraudulent proceedings dragged to light. Oh! you, who never spared a human being, Mr. Heathcote, were not spared yesterday: you, who never pitied a living soul, were not pitied yesterday! The barrister resembled a giant, and you a dwarf whom he held up writhing and shrieking in presence of the whole court—aye, the whole country. Every newspaper published this morning, contains a long account of the proceedings;—and by this time your character stinks in the nostrils of the entire profession.”
“Then am I not sufficiently punished, Mr. Green?” asked Heathcote, the tears rolling down his thin, emaciated, and sallow countenance. “Since you first commenced these numerous suits against me, I have not known a moment’s peace. Sleep has scarcely ever visited my pillow: the awful gulph of infamy and disgrace was always yawning at my feet. Look at me, Mr. Green—look at me! Am I not changed? My God! I am twenty years older than I was on that day when you quitted me in such anger and with such dreadful threats!”
“And those threats shall be fulfilled to the very letter—yes, to the very letter,” said Mr. Green, in a tone of unmitigated bitterness. “I told you that there should be war between us—war to the very knife;—and I have kept my word! I told you that ere a few months had elapsed, you would bitterly repent your conduct to one who only asked for a little kindness in return for his faithful services;—and you have already repented! But my memory is immortal, Mr. Heathcote—and I can never, never forget the injuries, the insults, the degradations, and the wrongs I have received at your hands. My thirst for revenge is therefore insatiable—and this very day shall I adopt another and still more important proceeding with regard to you.”
“My God! all this amounts to a persecution!” ejaculated Heathcote, literally writhing upon his chair.
“Call it what you will, sir,” responded Green, savagely: “no words—no entreaties—no menaces—no prayers on your part can stay me in the course which I am adopting.”
“And that course?” said Heathcote, shuddering with apprehension.
“Is an indictment at the Old Bailey for conspiracy,” answered Green.