CHAPTER LVII.

Though those that are betrayed

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worse case of woe.--_Cymbeline_.

Vinal sat alone, propped and cushioned in an arm chair, when a clerk

from his office came to bring him his morning letters. He looked over

the superscriptions till he saw one in a foreign hand. Vinal

compressed his pale lips. When the clerk had left the room, he glanced

about him nervously, tore open the letter, and read it in haste.

"The bloodsucker! Money; more money! He soaks it up like a sponge; or,

rather, I am the sponge, and he means to wring me dry. In jail! Well,

he has found his place, for once. Six hundred dollars! That, I

suppose, is to pay his fine; to uncage the wild beast, and set him

loose. I wish he were sentenced for ten years; then he might lie

there, and rot. I must send him something--enough to keep him in play.

No, I will send him nothing. He is in trouble; and I may turn it to

account. I will write to him that, if he will return me my letters, I

will give him a thousand dollars now, and an annuity of five hundred

for six years to come. I shall do well if I can draw the viper's teeth

at that price. Then I can breathe again; unless Morton should have

suspected the trick I played him, or--what if he should meet with

Speyer! But that is not likely, for he never knew him, nor saw him,

and Speyer will shun him as he would the plague. I wish they had shot

him in the prison, as I am told they meant to do. There would have

been one stumbling block away; one lion out of my path. But now the

sword hangs over me by a hair; I am racked and torn like a toad under

a harrow; no rest, no peace! What if Speyer should do as he threatens,

print my letters, and placard them about the streets! I will buy them

out of his hands if it cost all I have. And even then I shall not be

safe, as long as this ruffian is above ground. With him and Morton to

haunt me, my life is a slow death, a purgatory, a hell."

He tore Speyer's letter into small fragments, rolled and crushed them

together, and scattered them under the grate.

Vassall Morton: A Novel · 第 57 / 74 章