How he occupies his time, I cannot imagine, but
am sure that it is only in studying or practising evil."
"Possibly I may throw some light on that mystery," said Marcus. "I have
seen him, from my convenient window, enter his room, day after day,
generally in the afternoon, sit down at his table, and write for over an
hour steadily."
"That is strange!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "He has given up the
study of law. He has no taste for literary labor. He writes a beautiful
hand, and would not waste time in trying to improve his penmanship. It
is singular, indeed."
"His work, whatever it is, does not seem to satisfy him; for I have
observed that he no sooner fills a page with writing, than he burns it
to ashes by the gas jet, which he always keeps faintly lighted above
his head."
"Some more villany, I am sure," said the old gentleman, with a deep
sigh. "We shall find it out by its terrible consequences, in due time.
He has plenty of leisure to cultivate his vices, but not a moment to
seek my forgiveness (which, God knows, I would freely grant, if he would
only ask it).
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