“Eh, Fagan! that would be like one of your own contracts,—a hundred per cent!”
“I have not treated you in this wise, Mr. Carew,” said he, calmly..
“No, my boy! that you have not. To the last hour of my life—no great stretch of time, perhaps—I 'll say the same. You have been a generous fellow with me—the devil and yourself may perhaps know why,—I do not; nay, more, Fagan—I never cared to know. Perhaps you thought I 'd marry Polly. By George! I might have done worse; and who knows what may be yet on the cards? Ay, just so—the cards—the cards!”
He did not speak again for several minutes; but when he did, his voice assumed a tone of greater distinctness and accuracy, as if he would not that a single word were lost.
“I knew your scheme about the Papists, Tony; I guessed what you were at then. I was to have emancipated you!”
A wild laugh broke from him, and he went on,—
“Just fancy the old trumpeter's face, that hangs up in the dinner-room at Castle Carew! Imagine the look he would bestow on his descendant as I sat down to table. Faith! Old Noll himself would have jumped out of the canvas at the tidings. If you cannot strain your fancy that far, Tony, think what your own father would have said were his degenerate son to be satisfied with lawful interest!—imagine him sorrowing over the lost precepts of his house!”
“There; I'll close the curtains, and leave you to take a sleep,” said Fagan.
“But I have no time for this, man,” cried the other, again starting up; “I must be up and away. You must find some place of concealment for me till I can reach the Continent. Understand me well, Fagan, I cannot, I will not, make a defence; as little am I disposed to die like a felon! There's the whole of it! Happily, if the worst should come, Tony, the disgrace dies with me; that's something,—eh?”
“You will make yourself far worse by giving way to this excitement, Mr. Carew; you must try and compose yourself.”