Karl had raised his head in resentment--in defiance. It caused the lawyer's break.
"Nay, but you are Sir Karl, sir. You succeed to your brother."
"The reminder grated on me, Mr. Plunkett."
"The title's yours and the estates are yours. Every earthly thing is yours."
"Yes, yes; I suppose so."
"Well, if we can do anything for you, Sir Karl, down
there"--indicating with a nod of his head the direction in which Portland Island might be supposed to lie--"or at Foxwood, you have only to send to us. I hope you understand that I am not speaking now with a view to business, but as a friend," concluded Mr. Plunkett. "I'll say no more now, for I see you are not yourself."
"Indeed I am not," replied Karl. "I thank you all the same. As soon as I can I must get down to my mother."
The lawyer said good morning, and left him to his breakfast. But Karl had no appetite: then, or for many a day to come. Calling for his bill, he took his departure.
Never had Karl imagined distress and anguish so great as that which he witnessed on his arrival at Weymouth. For once all his mother's pride of power had deserted her. She flung herself at the feet of Karl, demanding why he did not persist in his objection to the contemplated attempt, and interfere openly, even by declaring all to the governor of Portland prison, and so save his brother. It was altogether too distressing for Karl to bear.
The first account was in the main correct. Adam Andinnian and the warder were both dead: the one shot, the other drowned.