"You see me in a passion--you know that I have cause--for is not this cause enough--this vile scar on features, now hideous, that were once surely not unpleasing." As he spoke he dashed his fingers into the wound, which he still seemed pleased to refer to, though the reference evidently brought with it bitterness and mortification.

He proceeded--his passion again rising predominant-- "Shall I spare the wretch whose ministry defaced me--shall I not have revenge on him who first wrote villain here--who branded me as an accursed thing, and among things bright and beautiful gave me the badge, the blot, the heel-stamp, due the serpent?
Shall I not have my atonement--my sacrifice--and shall you deny me--you, Walter Munro, who owe it to me in justice ?" "I owe it to you, Guy--how ?" "You taught me first to be the villain you now find me.

You first took me to the haunts of your own accursed and hell-educated crew.

You taught me all their arts, their contrivances, their lawlessness, and crime.

You encouraged my own deformities of soul till they became monsters, and my own spirit such a monster that I no longer knew myself.