The stranger took the note out of his hand, and on looking at the face of it made no observation, but, upon mechanically turning up the back, apparently without any purpose of examining it, he started, looked keenly at the man, and seemed sunk in the deepest possible amazement, not unrelieved, however, by an air of satisfaction. The sudden and mysterious disappearance of Fenton, taken in connection with the discovery of the note which he himself had given him, and now in the possession of a man whose appearance was both desperate and suspicious, filled him with instant apprehensions for the safety of Fenton.
His brow instantly became stern, and in a voice full of the most unequivocal determination, he said,
“Pray, sir, how did you come by this note?”
“By the temptation of the devil; for although it was in my possession, it didn't save my two other darlins from dying. A piece of a slate would be as useful as it was, for I couldn't change it—I durstn't.”
“You committed a robbery for this note, sir?”
The man glared at him with something like incipient fury, but paused, and looking on him with a more sorrowful aspect, replied,
“That is what the world will call it, I suppose; but if you wish to get anything out of me, change the tone of your voice. I haven't at the present time, much command over my temper, and I'm now a desperate man, though I wasn't always so. Either give me the change or the note back again.”
The stranger eyed him closely. Although desperate, as he said, still there were symptoms of an honest and manly feeling, even in the very bursts of passion which he succeeded with such effort in restraining.
“I repeat it, that this note came into your hands by an act of robbery—perhaps of murder.”
“Murder!” replied the man, indignantly. “Give me back the note, sir, and provoke me no farther.”