Rust bowed. 'You're kind. I shall not trouble you to repeat the offer. As for the grace extended to felons, I believe there is a law which makes a conspiracy to defraud, a felony likewise. It takes three to make a conspiracy, in law; but I have no doubt you have abettors. Perhaps you had better examine the matter. I wish you good morning, gentlemen; I wish to be alone.'
Rust sat without moving, until the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs was lost, and then he sprang to his feet.
'Now then,' exclaimed he, 'I know where I am! Now I can see where to strike. Ha! ha! We'll see who conquers, Harry Harson or Michael Rust—a desperate man, who has no alternative but to succeed or die. Ho! ho! I know where the mine is to be sprung; and I will countermine!'
Listless, desponding, and irresolute as to his course, as he had been before his interview with Harson, all trace of it had disappeared now. He had decided upon the steps to be taken; and, desperate as they were, he was not the man to hesitate. The anxiety which had borne him down, disappeared as he ascertained the extent of his danger, and was able to nerve himself to cope with it; and his manner was not only cheerful but merry, and his eye shone with a self-confidence not unlike that of a gladiator preparing for a conflict in which he or his adversary must perish.
Lingering in his office only long enough to give his two visitors time to get some distance off, he put on his hat, locked the door, placed the key over it, so that Kornicker might know where to find it, and sallied out into the street.
[A LOVER'S RECOLLECTIONS.]
Could'st thou but know how dark and drear my days, though few, have past
Since o'er my once light heart Despair his gloomy shadow cast;
Without one joy to cheer me here, and not a hope on high,
The only prayer I offer there, to be allowed to die;
Could'st thou but know the anguish which my tortured heart must hide,
While gazing on thee smiling still, in youth and beauty's pride,
While listening to thy thrilling voice until my burning brain
Is maddened with the withering thought that I must love in vain!
Thou would'st forgive me that I dare in hopelessness reveal
The fierce and frenzied agony of soul thou wilt not heal;
Thy gentle breast would pity one whose brimming cup of woe
Has gathered deeper bitterness from passion's scorching glow.
I thought that even charms like thine my sered heart could not move,
That sorrow's strength had steeled it long against the might of love;
That that last pang, of all the worst, could never more be mine,
And beauty's power so long defied, I should not bow to thine.
But oh! that cold sad freedom lost, I would not now regain!
Far dearer to my soul I hold the love thou wilt disdain;
Still on mine ear thy gentle voice in silent music falls,
Bathing my heart as moonlight bathes some donjon's craggy walls;
Still can I gaze in thought into those bright bewildering eyes,
Within whose heavenly depth enshrined Love's mighty shadow lies;
Still hang upon those lips which poured their melody of tone,
And breathed a softness on my heart, until that hour unknown.
W. C. S. B.