Roland tried to mutter a few words, but he could not succeed; and his eyes ranged about the chamber till they fell upon one who, pale and motionless, regarded him with a look of most expressive sadness.
“Miss Leicester, too, here?” said he, at last.
“Yes, Mr. Cashel,” said Lady Kilgoff; “chance is about to do for us what all our skill would have failed in. Here are two worthy people who will not hear your name mentioned, and who now must consent, not alone to hear, but see you in person. I am quite convinced you never did or could have injured them. Stand forward, Mr. Corrigan, and make your charge.”
“I will save that gentleman the pain of accusing me,” said Roland, with deep emotion. “I have injured him deeply, but yet unwittingly. I have long desired this meeting, to place in his hands a document I have never ceased to carry about me,—the title to a property of which I was not the rightful owner, and which is his—and his only.”
“I will not, I cannot accept of it, sir,” said Corrigan, proudly. “I will never see that cottage more.”
“I do not speak of 'the Cottage,'” said Cashel, “but of the whole estate of Tubbermore, the ancient possession of your house—still yours. There is the proof.” And, as he spoke, he drew forth the pardon, and handed it to Corrigan.
The old man trembled in every limb as he perused the paper, which he now read over for the third time.
“A royal pardon to Miles Corrigan, my grandfather?” exclaimed he, gasping for breath; “and how came you by this, sir?”
“The story is soon told,” said Cashel, relating in a few words the singular steps of the discovery.
“And you have travelled throughout Europe for upwards of three years to disencumber yourself of £16,000 a year?” said the ambassador, smiling good-naturedly.