“You are a scoundrel, sir!” said Gerald, between his compressed teeth. “I firmly believe that for years you have been scheming for this very thing. I know that you wanted to marry Allison when you believed her to be rich, and when you could not carry your point in that direction, and get her money, you doubtless plotted to bring the same result about in some other way.”
“Well, you certainly did not succeed in getting any of Adam Brewster’s gold!—you were rather balked in your efforts to win the pretty heiress—eh!” sneered the wretch, but flushing guiltily beneath the young man’s fiery, accusing glance.
“I would scorn to marry any woman for her money,” said Gerald proudly.
“You did care, for the girl, though—you became very sweet on her, if I remember rightly.”
“That is a matter which does not concern you in the least, sir.”
“Think so?” was the satirical rejoinder. “Possibly it does not—now, but it did concern me very much at one time. Have you forgotten the very significant little object-lesson which I gave you over three years ago? I told you, when I crushed the bud which she had given to you, that everything which stood in my path should share the same fate.”
“I remember,” said Gerald sternly, but with bloodless lips, as he thought how that act had symbolized Allison’s fate as she lay crushed and bleeding beneath that fatal wreck; “but,” he continued in the same tone, “let me now, in turn, prophesy for you—your day of triumph will be short, for if you have been guilty of fraud—and I firmly believe you have—if you have been false to the trust which Mr. Brewster reposed in you, you will ere long find yourself doomed. I am studying law, Mr. Hubbard, under one of the shrewdest attorneys of our day, and, when I complete my studies, if not before, I shall make it my business to investigate this singular case, which has so recently excited the gossip of New York society, and given a million or more of money into your greedy hands; and, if such a thing be possible, justice shall be meted out to you.”
“Bah! you brag like a second David, aching to slay another Goliath; but such valiant deeds are not achieved in this nineteenth century, you insufferable boaster!” snarled John Hubbard, as he turned resolutely aside to pursue his way.
“Hold!” commanded Gerald authoritatively; “I have yet one more word for you. Following out your simile, let me say that my sling is a dauntless will, and a pebble may yet be found which will do its work and hurl you from the heights, upon which you feel so secure, into an ignominious abyss from which you will never arise.”
Upon returning to Lady Bromley’s elegant residence in Portland Square, Gerald informed Mr. Lyttleton of his encounter with John Hubbard. The lawyer was deeply interested in the rehearsal of the conversation which had taken place between the two, and when the young man concluded, he remarked, with no little warmth and conviction: