“God help you, indeed!” cried Hopkins, with a look and accent of mingled rage and contempt. “I tell you, man, the loss is mine; and no other land you have, to sell or give, can make me any amends. I shall lose my lawsuit.”
“Wheugh! wheugh! Why, so much the better. Where’s the use of having lawsuits? The loss of such bad things can never be great.”
“No trifling, pray,” said Hopkins, with impatience, as he walked up and down the room, and repeatedly struck his forehead.
“Ho! ho! ho! I begin to comprehend. I know whereabouts you are now,” cried Simon. “Is not it the Grays you are thinking of? Ah, that’s the suit you are talking about. But now, Mr. Hopkins, you ought to rejoice, as I do, instead of grieving, that it is out of your power to ruin that family; for, in truth, they are good people, and have the voice of the country with them against you; and if you were to win your suit twenty times over, that would still be the same. You would never be able to show your face; and, for my own part, my conscience would never forgive me for being instrumental, unknown to myself, in giving you the power to do this mischief. And, after all, what put it into your head to stop Rosanna-mill, when its going gave you no trouble in life?”
Hopkins, who had not listened to one syllable Simon was saying, at this instant suddenly stopped walking; and, in a soft insinuating voice, addressed him in these words:
“Mr. O’Dougherty, you know I have a great regard for you.”
“May be so,” said Simon; “though that is more than I ever knew you to have for any body.”
“Pray be serious. I tell you I have, and will prove it.”
“That is more and more surprising, Mr. Hopkins.”
“And which is more surprising still, I will make your fortune, if you will do a trifling kindness for me.”