Glanville paused for a moment. I raised the handkerchief from the
miniature--I pushed the latter towards him--"Do you remember this?" said
I, in a low tone.

With a wild cry, which thrilled through my heart, Glanville sprung
forward and seized it. He gazed eagerly and intensely upon it, and his
cheek flushed--his eyes sparkled--his breast heaved. The next moment he
fell back in his chair, in one of the half swoons, to which, upon any
sudden and violent emotion, the debilitating effects of his disease
subjected him.

Before I could come to his assistance he had recovered. He looked wildly
and fiercely upon me. "Speak," he cried, "speak--where got you this--
where?--answer, for mercy's sake!"

"Recollect yourself," said I, sternly. "I found that token of your
presence upon the spot where Tyrrell was murdered."

"True, true," said Glanville, slowly, and in an absent and abstracted
tone. He ceased abruptly, and covered his face with his hands; from this
attitude he started with some sudden impulse.

"And tell me," he said, in a low, inward, exulting tone, "was it--was it
red with the blood of the murdered man?"

"Wretch!" I exclaimed, "do you glory in your guilt?"

"Hold!" said Glanville, rising, with an altered and haughty air; "it is
not to your accusations that I am now to listen: if you are yet desirous
of weighing their justice before you decide upon them, you will have the