allowed so strong an expression—­to aspire after your daughter’s hand!  Having nothing of his own to recommend him, and knowing that I am in his way, he does not cease to traduce me to your daughter on every occasion, and I fear the insidious poison of his oily tongue has already had a serious effect on her mind, which, if not put an end to, will turn her good opinion of me into dislike or even aversion.  Why it was but a few days ago that he and another fellow, a stranger in these parts, and a very suspicious-looking chap, had a conference in private, of, to say the best of it, a very sinister character; and, would you believe it, this fellow disguised himself so as to appear the very personation of myself?

“I was struck dumb, sir, when these facts were put in my possession by one of my workmen, who happened to see the villains and overhear a part of their talk.  But the worst of the story remains to be told.  Either by chance or design—­and with the facts in the case I leave you to determine which—­these confederates placed themselves near a bower to which your daughter had resorted but a few minutes previously, so that she, however unwillingly, must have heard a good portion of what passed between them!  Only think of it!  She for whom I would sacrifice all else, beholding me, as she must suppose, under such criminal aspects!”

This most artfully told tale was not without its effect upon the father.  He believed it:  how could he help it when so strongly corroborated by what his daughter had previously told him?  At the conclusion of it, he demanded, with something of vehemence in his manner: 

“Who was the despicable villain that thus dared to plot against the interest of my family?”

“Ah, there is the difficulty,” said Duffel, craftily.  “I fear to divulge names for several reasons.  In the first place, I know you cannot but feel highly indignant, and will desire to punish the criminal as he deserves; but I have no proof that will stand in law, and—!”

“Will not the testimony of my daughter added to yours be sufficient to convict the rascal, I’d like to know?”

“You forget that your daughter’s testimony would criminate me—­that she must fully believe it was I, and no other, that was in conversation with the stranger; for I am told that the disguise was perfect, so much so that it is impossible your daughter should not be deceived.”

“I see the difficulty.”

“Well, as I was going to say, being unable to substantiate my charges, I would lay myself liable to prosecution for slander, which must be far from pleasant, beside giving my adversary a decided advantage over me.  In the next place, my name would be coupled with those of blacklegs and secret villains, a circumstance far more to be dreaded than the other.  But I have a still higher motive for wishing this affair to be kept quiet—­your daughter’s welfare and fair name.  Pardon me for being compelled to speak of her in this connection; it is, I assure