“That dark spirit of vengeance,” replied the stranger, “is turning your brain, I think, or you would not say so. Whatever Sir Thomas Gourlay may be, he is not the man to act as the puppet of any person.”
“So you think; but I tell you he's acting as mine, for all that.”
“Well, well, Corbet, that is your own affair. Have you anything of importance to communicate to me, before I see Lady Gourlay? I ask you for the last time.”
“I have. The black villain and she have spoken at last. He yielded to his daughter so far as to call upon her, and asked her to be present at the weddin'.”
“The wedding!” exclaimed the stranger, looking aghast. “God of heaven, old man, do you mean to say that they are about to be married so soon?—about to be married at all? But I will leave you,” he added; “there is no possibility of wringing anything out of you.”
“Wait a little,” continued Corbet. “What I'm goin' to tell you won't do you any harm, at any rate.”
“Be quick, then. Gracious heaven!—married!—Curses seize you, old man, be quick.”
“On the mornin' afther to-morrow the marriage is to take place in Sir Thomas's own house. Lord Dunroe's sisther is to be bridesmaid, and a young fellow named Roberts—”
“I know—I have met him.”
“Well, and did you ever see any one that he resembled, or that resembled him? I hope in the Almighty,” he added, uttering the ejaculation evidently in connection with some private thought or purpose of his own, “I hope in the Almighty that this sickness will keep off o' me for a couple o' days at any rate. Did you ever see any one that resembled him?”