The Irishman seemed to be struck with surprise, examining inquisitively my looks, and after a short pause, continued in a firmer accent: “It was my duty to make this discovery to Amelia; however, it would never have been sufficient to procure you her reciprocal love, if I had not done something which was not my duty.”
“What have you done? My notions of your actions have been confounded so much, that I cannot thank you beforehand.”
“Thank!” he replied haughtily, “as if I had ever done any thing for the sake of thanks! In order to save you that trouble, I will not tell you what I have done for you.”
The strain in which he spoke confounded me. I returned no answer.
“However, I must caution you,” he continued, “not to represent me to the Countess as an impostor, if you do not wish to destroy the effect of the service which I have done you. You will be convinced at some future period how necessary it is for your own happiness not to slight this advice.”
“If I am to enjoy the happiness you have prepared for me, I must first know the residence of Amelia.”
“Not before you have pledged your honour to follow my advice.”
“Should I suffer Amelia to be imposed upon like myself; I should owe her love to a delusion?”
“Who has told you that I have imposed upon the Countess? You do not know as yet what I have done; it would therefore be just not to condemn me before-hand, as you refuse to thank me before-hand for. what I have done!”
“I judge of an action of yours which I do not know, from your former actions, which I know very well, at present. Can you call this unjust?”