be an awful injury. How long is it, Guy, since you have become so
particularly solicitous of beauty, so proud of your face and features?"

"You will spare your sarcasm for another season, Munro, if you would not
have strife. I am not now in the mood to listen to much, even from you,
in the way of sneer or censure. Perhaps, I am a child in this, but I can
not be otherwise. Besides, I discover in this youth the person of one to
whom I owe much in the growth of this very hell-heart, which embitters
everything about and within me. Of this, at another time, you shall hear
more. Enough that I know this boy--that it is more than probable he
knows me, and may bring us into difficulty--that I hate him, and will
not rest satisfied until we are secure, and I have my revenge."

"Well, well, be not impatient, nor angry. Although I still doubt that
the youth in the house is your late opponent, you may have suffered
wrong at his hands, and you may be right in your conjecture."

"I am right--I do not conjecture. I do not so readily mistake my man,
and I was quite too near him on that occasion not to see every feature
of that face, which, at another and an earlier day, could come between
me and my dearest joys--but why speak I of this? I know him: not to
remember would be to forget that I am here; and that he was a part of
that very influence which made me league, Munro, with such as you, and
become a creature of, and a companion with, men whom even now I despise.
I shall not soon forget his stern and haughty smile of scorn--his proud
bearing--his lofty sentiment--all that I most admire--all that I do not
possess--and when to-day he descended to dinner, guided by that meddling
booby, Forrester, I knew him at a glance. I should know him among ten
thousand."