“I seen him with my own eyes,” she replied; “there can be no mistake about it.”
“And he doesn't suspect you of takin' the money from him?”
“No more than he does you; so far from that, I wouldn't be surprised if it's the Frenchwoman he suspects.”
“But hadn't you better call on him? that is, if you know where he lives. Maybe he's sorry for leavin' you.”
“He, the villain! No; you don't know the life he led me. If he was my husband—as unfortunately he is—a thousand times over, a single day I'll never live with him. This lameness, that I'll carry to my grave, is his work. Oh, no; death any time sooner than that.”
“Well,” said the old man, after a lung pause, “it's a strange story you've tould me; and I'm sorry, for Lord Cullamore's sake, to hear it. He's one o' the good ould gentlemen that's now so scarce in the country. But, tell me, do you know where M'Bride lives?”
“No,” she replied, “I do not, neither do I care much; but I'd be glad that his old master had back his papers. There's a woman supposed to be livin' in this country that could prove this stranger's case, and he came over here to find her out if he could.”
“Do you know her name?”
“No; I don't think I ever heard it, or, if I did, I can't at all remember it. M'Bride mentioned the woman, but I don't think he named her.”
“At all events,” replied Corbet, “it doesn't signify. I hope whatever steps they're takin' against that good ould nobleman will fail; and if I had the papers you speak of this minute, I'd put them into the fire. In the mane time try and make out where your vagabone of a husband lives, or, rather, set Ginty to work, as she and you are living together, and no doubt she'll soon ferret him out.”