That was so; yet his reckoning must include those two enigmatical visitors, the professed end of each of which was far from being, he felt positive, its real one; and must include Mr. Joseph Corby’s pregnant allusions—to the crazed girl—to some unknown quantity with a fanciful title.
Considering all this from each and every aspect, he did so work himself up to a state of savage irritation over the intolerable strain it entailed upon a mind prone to pre-occupation in less morbid matters, that he must have in the unfortunate Whimple and ease upon him his burden of annoyance.
“Tell me,” said he. “Do you know anything of this man Breeds by reputation?”
“I know—yes, sir; I have heard of him.”
“Oh! for heaven’s sake, man, give a straightforward answer for once. I ask you what is his reputation?”
“Indeed, sir, it is none of the best; though I have heard nought immediately to his discredit.”
“Again and again. Isn’t it a mere slander to impute evil and back from specifying it? What is he charged with?”
“Nothing, but that his house is the resort of topers and padding gentry.”
“And is it on that account you make a sealed coffin of ‘Delsrop’ o’ nights and would have me suffocate in my bedroom?”
The servant showed a distressed hesitation.