"Can you not find some excuse for my vexation, knowing,
as you do that the wretch was a vile assassin--a man
whose hands have been imbrued in the blood of my own
father?"

"Was he not acquitted of the charge?"

"He was--but only from lack of evidence to convict; yet,
although acquitted by the law, not surer is fate than
that he is an assassin."

"You hold assassins in great horror," remarked the
American, thoughtfully--"you are right--it is but natural."

"In horror, said, you?--aye, in such loathing, that
language can supply no term to express it."

"And yet, you once attempted an assassination yourself.
Nay, do not start, and look the image of astonishment.
Have you not told me that you fired into the hut, on the
night of your mysterious adventure? What right had you,
if we argue the question on its real merit, to attempt
the life of a being who had never injured you?"

"What right, Matilda?--every right, human and divine.
I sought but to save a victim from the hands of a midnight
murderer.

"And, to effect this, scrupled not to become a midnight