Mary Leicester arose hastily and retired, too happy to hide, in the secrecy of her own room, that burst of emotion which oppressed her, and whose utterance she could no longer restrain.
Scarcely had she gone, when Linton crossed the grass-plot, and entered the cottage. A gentle tap at the door of the drawing-room announced him, and he entered. A more acute observer than Mr. Corrigan might have remarked that the deferential humility so characteristic of his manner was changed for an air of more purpose-like determination. He came to carry a point by promptness and boldness; and already his bearing announced the intention.
After a few words of customary greeting, and an inquiry more formal than cordial for Miss Leicester's health, he assumed an air of solemn purpose, and said,—
“You will not accuse me of undue impatience, my dear Mr. Corrigan, nor think me needlessly pressing, if I tell you that I have come here this morning to learn the answer to my late proposition. Circumstances have occurred at the hall to make my remaining there, even another day, almost impossible. Cashel's last piece of conduct is of such a nature as to make his acquaintance as derogatory as his friendship.”
“What was it?”
“Simply this. Lord Kilgoff has at length discovered what all the world has known for many a day back; and, in his passionate indignation, the poor old man has been seized with a paralytic attack.”
Mr. Corrigan passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some terrible imagination, and sat then pale, silent, and attentive, as Linton went on,—
“The most heartless is yet to come! While this old man lies stretched upon his bed—insensible and dying—this is the time Cashel selects to give a great entertainment, a ball, to above a thousand people. It is almost too much for belief—so I feel it myself. The palsied figure of his victim—his victim, do I say? there are two: that miserable woman, who sits as paralyzed by terror as he is by disease—might move any man from such levity; but Cashel is superior to such timidity; he fancies, I believe, that this ruffian hardihood is manliness, that brutal insensibility means courage, and so he makes his house the scene of an orgy, when his infamy has covered it with shame. I see how this affects you, sir; it is a theme on which I would never have touched did it not concern my own fortunes. For me, the acquaintance of such a man is no longer possible. For the sake of that unhappy woman, whom I knew in better days—to cover, as far as may be, the exposure that sooner or later must follow her fault—I am still here. You will, therefore, forgive my importunity if I ask if Miss Leicester has been informed of my proposal, and with what favor she deigns to regard it.”
“I have told my granddaughter, sir,” said the old man, tremulously, “we have talked together on the subject; and while I am not able to speak positively of her sentiments towards you, it strikes me that they are assuredly not unfavorable. The point is, however, too important to admit a doubt: with your leave, we will confer together once again.”
“Might I not be permitted to address the young lady myself, sir? The case too nearly concerns all my future happiness to make me neglect whatever may conduce to its accomplishment.”