The mysterious friend of Mr. Chillingworth finished his narrative, and then the doctor said to him,-"And that, then, is the real cause why you, a man evidently far above the position of life which is usually that of those who occupy the dreadful post of executioner, came to accept of it."--"The real reason, sir. I considered, too, that in holding such a humiliating situation that I was justly served for the barbarity of which I had been guilty; for what can be a greater act of cruelty than to squander, as I did, in the pursuit of mad excitement, those means which should have rendered my home happy, and conduced to the welfare of those who were dependant upon me?"
"I do not mean to say that your self-reproaches are unjust altogether, but--What noise is that? do you hear anything?"-"Yes--yes."
"What do you take it to be?"--"It seemed like the footsteps of a number of persons, and it evidently approaches nearer and nearer. I know not what to think."
"Shall I tell you?" said a deep-toned voice, and some one, through the orifice in the back of the summer-house, which, it will be recollected, sustained some damage at the time that Varney escaped from it, laid a hand upon Mr. Chillingworth's shoulder. "God bless me!" exclaimed the doctor; "who's that?" and he sprang from his seat with the greatest perturbation in the world.
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