“Poor fellow!” muttered MacNaghten.
“'Poor fellow,' as much as you wish, sir; but remember that some degree of consideration is due to me also! I was a prisoner seven weeks in Newgate; I stood in the dock, arraigned for a murder; I was on the eve of a false conviction and a false sentence; and there is no man living can say what results might not have followed on my being falsely executed! Your friend's stupid interference has spoiled everything, and you need n't ask me, at least, to feel grateful to him.”
“There are men who, in your situation that day, would not hesitate to acknowledge their gratitude, notwithstanding,” said MacNaghten.
“There are poor-spirited, contemptible curs in every country, sir, if you mean that!” said Curtis. “As for Carew, he was a gentleman by birth. He had the fortune and the education of one. He might, if he had wished it, have been one of the first, if not the very first, men in this country. He thought it a finer thing to be a horse-racer and a gambler. He saw greater distinction in being the dangler at the court of a foreign debauchee to being the leading character in his own land. Don't interrupt me, sir,” cried he, haughtily, waving his hand, while he went on, with increased vehemence. “I tell you again that Walter Carew might now have been a great living patriot—instead of—”
“If you utter one syllable of insult to his memory,” broke in MacNaghten, boldly, “neither your age nor your folly shall save you; for, by Heaven—”
He stopped, for the aspect of the broken-down, white-' haired figure in front of him suddenly overcame him with shame for his own violence.
“Well, and what then?” said Curtis, calmly. “Shall I finish your threat for you? for, in truth, you seem quite unable to do so yourself. No, I 'll not—Dan MacNaghten—never fear me. I 'm just as incapable of defaming him who has left us as you are of offering insult to an old, decrepit, half-crazed man, whose only use in life is to cast obloquy upon those that have made him the thing he is.”
“Forgive me, Curtis; I am heartily sorry for my rude speech,” cried MacNaghten.
“Forgive you, sir!” said he, already following out another and a very different train of thought. “I have nothing to forgive. You were only doing what all the world does; what your Government and its authorities give the example of,—insulting one whom it is safe to outrage! You treat me as you treat Ireland, that's all! Give me your hand, MacNaghten; I think, indeed I always said, you were the best of those fellows about Carew. If he had n't been away from you, probably he 'd not have fallen into that stupid mistake,—that French connection.”
“His marriage, do you mean?” cried Dan, eagerly.