“To every word, Sir,” said O’Rorke, obsequiously; and, indeed, it was strangely like magnetism the effect produced upon him, when Ladarelle assumed the tone and manner of a superior.
“I want to have done with the business, then, at once,” continued Ladarelle. “Find out from the doctor—and find it out accurately—what are her chances of life. If she is likely to live, learn how soon she could be removed from this, and whither to, as Sir Within is sure to trace her to this place. As soon as possible, we must manage some sort of mock marriage, for I believe it is the only sure way of stopping this old man in his folly. Now, I leave it to you to contrive the plan for this. There’s another demand for you. See who is at the door.”
“Mr. O’Rorke is wanted at M’Cafferty’s,” said a voice outside.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Sir.”
“Well, I shall go to bed, and don’t disturb me if there be nothing important to tell me. Order breakfast for ten to-morrow, and let me see you there.”
O’Rorke bowed respectfully, and went out.
“I’d give fifty pounds to hear that you had broken your neck on the staircase!” muttered Ladarelle, as he saw the door close; “and I’d give a hundred had I never seen you!”
CHAPTER LVI. A HEAVY BLOW.
In the grand old dining-room of Dalradern Castle, Sir Within was seated with his guest, Mr. Grenfell. The ample wood-fire on the hearth, the costly pictures on the walls, the table covered with decanters and flasks of various forms, the ample old chairs in which they lounged, suggested luxurious ease and enjoyment; and perhaps Grenfell, as he smoked his cigar, in accordance with the gracious permission of his host, did feel that it was a supreme moment of life; while certainly he, to whom all the precious appliances belonged, was ill at ease and uncomfortable, answering occasionally at random, and showing in many ways that his mind was deeply and far from pleasantly preoccupied.