"Was he dead?"
"He had been dead for hours. The razor was lying beside him near the door. I have never quite got over that dreadful sight: and the thought has always haunted me that, had I understood his meaning properly, it might have been prevented."
"His trunk—what did he get that out for?" asked Robert, after a pause.
"To blind me, sir—as I have believed since—while he gave the message."
"Why did he commit the deed?" gloomily continued Robert, whom the account seemed to have partially sobered.
"He had fallen into the clutches of the same sort of people that you have, sir, and they had fleeced him down to beggary and shame, and he had not the resolution to leave them, and face the poverty; that was why he did it. His worst enemy was Captain Haughton. He is Colonel Haughton now."
"What do you mean?" cried Robert Dalrymple, after a pause of astonishment.
"Yes, sir, the same man. He is your evil genius, and he was your uncle's before you. The last time I saw him, in the old days, was when we both stood together over my master's dead body; he came in, along with others. 'He must have been stark mad,' was his exclamation. 'Perhaps so, Captain Haughton,' I answered, 'but the guilt lies on those who drove him so.' He took my meaning, and he slunk away out of the room. Mr. Robert," added the old man, the tears streaming down his cheeks, "do you know what I like to fancy—and to hope?"
Robert lifted his eyes.
"Why, that the punishment will lie with these wretched tempters, as well as the guilt. The good God is just and merciful."