the best of friends this morning. But I'll be even with that fellow
Fane--yes; by Heaven, I will, if it's a score of years hence!"

Perhaps the light satiric tone which the young man had used throughout
his narrative was little in accordance with the feelings which really
agitated him; but, at all events, his last few words were full of
malignant passion.

"Be even, Dick, by all means, with every body," observed Mrs. Yorke,
coolly, "but do not indulge yourself in revenge. Revenge is like a game
at battle-door, wherein one can never tell who will have the last hit."

"At the same time, it is one of those few luxuries which those who have
least to lose can best afford," said Richard, with the air of a
moralist.

"It is not cheap, however, even to them," returned Mrs. Yorke, still
busy with her antimacassar. "It may cost one one's life, for instance."

"And what then?" inquired Richard, carelessly.

"Nobody knows 'what then,' Dick. Our fanatic yonder had one opinion; our
philosopher there"--she pointed to the skull--"another. Both of them
know by this time, and yet can not tell us. It is the one case where the
experience of others can not benefit ourselves."

This subject had no charms for Richard. When we are what is vulgarly
called "in the sulks," and displeased (if we were to own it) with the
system of universal government in this world, the next seems of but
little importance. There may be a miscarriage of justice (that is, a