Ashby watched with all these bitter thoughts in his mind, until at length he could endure them no longer. He determined to confront his former friend, his present enemy, and meet him face to face; to charge him with his perfidy, and seek for vengeance. With a leap, he bounded up the steps. Harry retreated, yet not so fast but that Ashby caught up with him, and grasped him as he was flying. Then Harry turned, pistol in hand, and the two stood face to face.
"Ashby!" cried Harry.
And Ashby cried out:
"Scoundrel! villain! traitor!"
His face was white, and his voice hoarse with passion.
Harry was confounded.
"Hang it, Ashby; don't you know me? Are you mad?"
"Know you!" cried Ashby, bitterly. "Thank Heaven, I do know you! I've found you out, you infernal sneak, you! Know you? Good heavens! yes, I know you for a scoundrel, and a contemptible, double-dealing interloper and villain!"
Harry stood aghast.
"What in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this?"