river, and the old hag that received them from the mother is rotting in her coffin.” Unworthy son, coward, liar, — you, who hold your councils with thieves and murderers in dark rooms at night, — you, whose plots and wiles have brought a violent death upon the head of one worth millions such as you, — you, who from your cradle were gall and bitterness to your own father’s heart, and in whom all evil passions, vice, and profligacy, festered, till they found a vent in a hideous disease which had made your face an index even to your mind — you, Edward Leeford, do you still brave me!’

‘No, no, no!’ returned the coward, overwhelmed by these accumulated charges.

‘Every word!’ cried the gentleman, ‘every word that has passed