“Your heart—oh! I’ll answer for your heart, my noble fellow,” said Sir Ulick; “but I own you surprise me by the coolness of head you show.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Ormond, “I must run this minute to tell Dr. Cambray and all my friends at Vicar’s Dale.”
“Certainly—quite right,” said Sir Ulick—“I won’t detain you a moment,” said he—but he still held him fast. “I let you go to-night, but you must come to me to-morrow.”
“Oh! sir, certainly.”
“And you will bid adieu to Vicar’s Dale, and take up your quarters at Castle Hermitage, with your old guardian.”
“Thank you, sir—delightful! But I need not bid adieu to Vicar’s Dale—they are so near, I shall see them every day.”
“Of course,” said Sir Ulick, biting his lip; “but I was thinking of something.”
“Pray,” continued Sir Ulick, “do you like a gig, a curricle, or a phaeton best, or what carriage will you have? there is Tom Darrel’s in London now, who can bring it over for you. Well, we can settle that to-morrow.”
“If you please—thank you, kind Sir Ulick—how can you think so quickly of every thing?”
“Horses, too—let me see,” said Sir Ulick, drawing Harry back to the fire-place—“Ay, George Beirne is a judge of horses—he can choose for you, unless you like to choose for yourself. What colour—black or bay?”