* * * * *

After leaving the cave, Duffel hastened back to Mr. Mandeville’s as fast as his fleet steed could bear him.  It was after dark before he drew up in front of that gentleman’s house, his horse covered with sweat and foam, and well-nigh exhausted.  It was his wish to be there before the father should institute any search for his missing daughter, that he might succeed in throwing the blame upon Hadley, in case the letters dropped for the purpose of implicating him should not have fallen into the hands of the parent; and with this view he had a story already made up, to the effect that some one had seen the fugitives in their flight.  As was his custom, he paused on the outside of the house to listen, hoping by that means to obtain a knowledge of affairs, and of the feelings of Mr. Mandeville relative to his daughter’s desertion or abduction as the case might be.  He soon heard the hurried footsteps of that gentleman, as, in his deep distress, he paced the floor—­heard, also, his broken exclamations and heavy groans, and the only sentiment all these things awakened in his callous soul was expressed in the unfeeling words spoken to himself, in thought: 

“The old man takes it hard.”

It was a very extraordinary thing for Mr. Mandeville to express his thoughts aloud, but he did so on this occasion, and Duffel heard his comments on the letters, and his execration of the writer, as also his reflections upon his daughter’s conduct; then there was a crumpling sound like that of paper, as though the sheets were crushed in the hand of the reader.  All this was music to the crime-stained soul of the guilty listener, who exulted in the success of his scheme, and felt additional assurance of ultimately triumphing in all his undertakings.  But when the spirit-bowed father, in his hopeless agony, called down the curse upon the head of the author of the wrong, and appealed to Heaven for vengeance, the villain cowered as if truly smitten with a bolt; and the bare thought that the fate prayed for might be his, sent a cold chill to his heart and forced out great drops of perspiration on his brow.  He trembled in every limb, like one in an ague fit, and it was some seconds before he could regain command of his faculties.  At last he felt something like himself again, and not wishing to hear anything more of the same kind, he knocked at the door, and the next minute stood face to face with Mr. Mandeville.  Black as his corrupt heart had become, he could not look unmoved upon that countenance, and behold the ravages made in a short hour by the pains of soul he had inflicted.

“Are you sick, Mr. Mandeville?” was his first inquiry.

“No, sir; but worse, much worse than sick.”

“Indeed!  How is that?”

“Eveline is gone!”

“Gone?”

“Yes, gone forever!”

“What!” and the miscreant evinced the utmost surprise and astonishment.  “You do not mean to say she is dead?”