attend on him! Silent still? Recall your son! Soon you will clasp him
in your arms as a beggar, or as the lord of Laughton!"

Lucretia shuddered, but did not rise; she drew forth a ring of keys from
her bosom, and pointed towards a secretary. Varney snatched the keys,
unlocked the secretary, seized the fatal casket, and sat down quietly
before it.

When the dire selections were made, and secreted about his person, Varney
rose, approached the fire, and blew the wood embers to a blaze.

"And now," he said, with his icy irony of smile, "we may dismiss these
useful instruments,--perhaps forever. Though Walter Ardworth, in
restoring your son, leaves us dependent on that son's filial affection,
and I may have, therefore, little to hope for from the succession, to
secure which I have risked and am again to risk my life, I yet trust to
that influence which you never fail to obtain over others. I take it for
granted that when these halls are Vincent Braddell's, we shall have no
need of gold, nor of these pale alchemies. Perish, then, the mute
witnesses of our acts, the elements we have bowed to our will! No poison
shall be found in our hoards! Fire, consume your consuming children!"

As he spoke, he threw upon the hearth the contents of the casket, and set
his heel upon the logs. A bluish flame shot up, breaking into countless
sparks, and then died.

Lucretia watched him without speaking.

In coming back towards the table, Varney felt something hard beneath his
tread; he stooped, and picked up the ring which has before been described