“For the priest's body, sir, in the first place, and then for the pocket-book and pistols.”
“If I were a little stronger,” replied the baronet, in an angry voice, “I would write the receipt upon your own body with a strong horsewhip; begone, you impudent scoundrel!”
Skipton turned upon him a bitter and vindictive look, and replied, “Oh, very well, sir—come, Tom, you are witness that I did my duty.”
Sir Thomas on entering the study threw himself listlessly on a sofa, and desired Gibson to retire.
“Take a seat, sir,” said he, addressing Father M'Mahon. “I am far from well, and must rest a little before I speak to you; I know not what is the matter with me, but I feel all out of sorts.”
He then drew a long breath, and laid his head upon his hand, as if to recover more clearly the powers of his mind and intellect. His eyes, full of thought not unmingled with anxiety, were fixed upon the carpet, and he seemed for a time wrapped in deep and painful abstraction. At length he raised himself up, and drawing his breath apparently with more freedom began the conversation.
“Well, sir,” said he, in a tone that implied more of authority and haughtiness than of courtesy or gentlemanly feeling; “it seems the property of which I have been robbed has come into your possession.”
“It is true, sir; and allow me to place it in your own hands exactly as I got it. I took the precaution to seal the pocket-book the moment it was returned to me, and although it was for a short time in possession of the officers of justice, yet it is untouched, and the seal I placed on it unbroken.”
The baronet's hand, as he took the pocket-book, trembled with an agitation which he could not repress, although he did everything in his power to subdue it: his eye glittered with animation, or rather with delight, as he broke the seal.
“It was very prudently and correctly done of you, sir, to seal up the pocket-book; very well done, indeed: and I am much obliged to you so far, although we must have some conversation upon the matter immediately—”