It is a dreadful bad business." "Pray, Mr.James," continued this man with grave, searching eyes which made sinners shake in their shoes, "pray, why did you run away, and where did you go after you opened the shop this morning?
You went to see Mr.Emblem's grandson, did you not ?" "Yes, I did," said James.
"Why did you go to see him ?" "I w--w--went--oh, Lord!--I went to tell him what had happened, because he is master's grandson, and I thought he ought to know," said James.
"Did you tell him ?" "No; he has left his lodgings.

I don't know where he is--oh, and he always told me the shop was his--settled on him," he said.
"He is the Father of Lies; his end will be confusion.

Shame and confusion shall wait upon all who have hearkened unto him or worked with him, until they repent and make atonement." "Don't, Mister Lala Roy--don't; you frighten me," said James.

"Oh, what a dreadful liar he is!" All the morning the philosopher sat in the bookseller's chair, and James, in the outer shop, felt that those deep eyes were resting continually upon him, and knew that bit by bit his secret would be dragged from him.

If he could get up and run away--if a customer would come--if the dark gentleman would go upstairs--if he could think of something else! But none of these things happened, and James, at his table with the paste before him, passed a morning compared with which any seat anywhere in Purgatory would have been comfortable.
Presently a strange feeling came over him, as if some invisible force was pushing and dragging him and forcing him to leave his chair, and throw himself at the Philosopher's feet and confess everything.