'You can't search my house, you have no warrant. Oh, let me go—I promise—yes, only let me go—I will indeed'—
'Confess?' asked Sir Eustace. 'It is needless.'
'No, no, explain it, and—and'—
'Give up the will. That may as well be taken from its hiding-place; the law employs expert seekers.'
'Fool that I have been!' cried the steward, who now saw his true position—that he was without hope of escape.
'It is well that you know that,' said Sir Eustace; 'there is hope that you may seek for wisdom.'
But the steward rocked to and fro in his chair, his violent passions venting themselves in choking imprecations on his own folly.
Hoping little from him in this state, Sir Eustace beckoned the doctor to the door, intending to leave him awhile; but the paroxysm had passed, and, starting up, he looked fixedly on Sir Eustace.
'Tell me one thing,' he said; 'are you employed by the son of the last Sir Eustace?' Sir Eustace nodded assent. 'Then if I were to disclose the truth of everything'—
'Needless—it is disclosed; have I not told it but now?'