'Yet you ought to,' said Grosket, in the same tone. 'Look at me again.'
Again the old man bent his eyes upon his face, and studied his features; and certainly they were not of a character to be easily forgotten; but again he was at fault; he did not know him.
'It's strange!' muttered the other; 'a friend is often forgotten, but an enemy rarely. My name is Grosket—Enoch Grosket.'
A bright flush passed over the old man's face, as he heard the name, and he half rose from his chair. 'Yes, yes,' said he, quickly; 'I know now; the friend of Michael Rust. Kate,' said he, suddenly turning to the girl, who was leaning over his chair; 'you can go—go, Kate; leave the room, my child. This is only a friend of Mr. Rust's.'
'It's scarcely worth while,' said Grosket, 'for what I have to say of Rust will soon be spoken in the open day; ay, in his teeth will I fling my charges; before the whole world will I make them; I will brand him with a mark that he will carry to his grave! No, no, Jacob Rhoneland. I'm not a friend of Michael Rust, and he'll find it so. I've too many wrongs to settle with him, for that.'
'Not a friend of his!' ejaculated Rhoneland; 'then what brings you here? Don't you know that I am his friend?—an old friend? He calls me his best friend.'
Grosket's lip curled, as he answered:
'That friendship has lasted too long for the good of one of you. I need not mention who that one is. I am come to end it. He was my friend once. God save me from another like him! God! how he loved me!' said he, setting his teeth; 'and in return,' added he, in a cold tone, 'don't I love him now? Such a love! Give me but life and liberty, life and liberty,' said he, dropping his assumed tone, and breaking out in a burst of fierce vehemence, 'and by every hope that man can have, I swear to crush him; to grind him to the earth, body and soul; to blight him as he has blighted others; and as far as man can do so, to thwart every scheme, wither every hope, and to make him drag out his life, a vile, spurned, detested object, hated by man, driven from the pale of society, with every transgression stamped upon him, and beyond redemption in this world! What his prospects may be hereafter, none can tell but Him.' He raised his hat reverently as he spoke, and his tone from high excitement, calmed into deep solemnity.
'My errand here,' said he, turning to Rhoneland, 'is simple; my story a short one. I was Michael Rust's friend—his tool, if you will. Through his agency I am a beggar, and my wife and child are in their graves. This did not satisfy him. I am now arrested at his suit for a debt of three thousand dollars, of which I know nothing. I cannot pay it. I have not that sum in the world; but I cannot go to prison. It would frustrate all my views. I must be at large to work. Let me have but a month of freedom, and Michael Rust will be glad to exonerate me from all claims, and to beg me on his knees to stand his friend. I am come to ask you to be my bail. The sum is six thousand dollars.'