'Me! me!' exclaimed Rhoneland; 'ME your bail! and against Michael Rust!—my friend Rust! Oh, no; never, never!'
'It's more for your interest than mine,' replied Grosket, calmly. 'If you do not, you'll repent it.'
Rhoneland twisted his fingers one in the other, and looked irresolutely at his daughter, and at the deputy, and then at Grosket, as if seeking counsel in their faces. At last he said, in a querulous tone:
'You're a stranger to me. I don't know you. Why do you speak in riddles? Why do you come here to harass a broken-down old man? What do you mean?'
'I mean this,' replied Grosket: 'Michael Rust is your friend because you dare not be his enemy. You love him because you dare not hate him. You pray night and day to be rid of him. You would think it the brightest day in your life when, all connection between you dissolved, he left your door to darken it no more. He has a hold on your fears, with which he sways you to his will, and which he will make the means of ruin to you, and of wretchedness to those dearer to you than yourself. I speak of her,' said he, seeing the old man looking timidly up in the face of Kate, who still hung over his chair, pale as death, but listening to every word. 'I know his secrets, his crimes, the tools with which he works; the very falsehood which he has fabricated against you, which you cannot disprove, but which I can.'
'Falsehoods!' ejaculated Rhoneland.
'Yes, falsehoods. The time is come when, even with you, he must stand revealed in his true character.'
He stepped close to Rhoneland and whispered a few words in his ear. The old man sank back in his chair, as if seized with sudden faintness; his jaw relaxed, and his eyes half started from his head. His prostration lasted but for a moment. The next instant he started up, made a step toward Grosket, and grasped his hand in both of his. 'Can you save me? can you save me?' gasped he; 'Oh! do—do, for God's sake!'
'I can,' replied Grosket.
'And her, her? my own child?' exclaimed he, pointing to his daughter.