"Even if he had not confided his intentions to me, I know him too well not to foresee the course he will take; but he has concealed nothing of his designs from me, except the mode in which he intends to work them out. Of that I know nothing. But it is enough, surely, that such a man should swear an oath of vengeance in my presence, to justify me in the warning I have given you."
"I thank you. And this warning—upon which we seem to put very different valuations—is the result of your friendly interference?"
"You are at liberty to doubt my friendship; but I will not leave my motives open to misconstruction. I repeat to you that I give you this warning, for his sake as much as for yours."
"And why for his sake?"
"Because if you avoid him you may save him from the perpetration of a crime. The whole energies of his mind are directed to one end. He lives for nothing else, and will pursue it at any cost or peril to himself. I know him. If you are wise, you will heed my warning. If not, take your own course. I have discharged my conscience, and have done."
As he spoke these words, he drew his chair toward the fire, and sat musing as if he had dropped out of the conversation.
"Forrester," I exclaimed, "one question more! Why did you not communicate this to Astræa yourself? Why did you leave to me the pain of carrying home such ill news?"
"Home!" repeated Forrester, involuntarily; then, raising his voice, he went on: "Why did I not go to her, and tell her that she ought to separate from you, if she had any regard for her own future security? What should you have thought of my friendship if I had done that? Why, you distrust me as it is."
"No—I have no distrusts. It is evident on which side your sympathies are engaged."
"With whom should I sympathize—the wronged, or the wrong-doer?"