“Let him speak,” said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; “let the voice of truth be heard.”
“Truth!” cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen.
“And who the devil are you, sir?” said Old Nick.
“Lord Colambre, I protest!” exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Raffarty at this instant appeared at the open door.
“Lord Colambre!” repeated all present, in different tones.
“My lord, I beg pardon,” continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if her legs were tied; “had I known you was down here, I would not have presumed. I’d better retire; for I see you’re busy.”
“You’d best; for you’re mad, sister,” said St. Dennis, pushing her back; “and we are busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you can.”
“First, madam,” said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door, “let me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house, whilst any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you showed me you cannot think I now forget.”
“Oh, my lord, you’re too good—how few—too kind—kinder than my own;” and, bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room.
Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, who were in various attitudes of astonishment, and with faces of fear, horror, hope, joy, doubt.