The other, who was completely outmanoeuvred by Corbet, at once declined to receive back either the letter or notes, and after again pressing the worthy steward to befriend him in the matter of the note as far as he could, he once more paid a visit to old Anthony. This occurred on the day before that appointed for the marriage.
“Corbet,” said he, addressing him as he lay upon an old crazy sofa, the tarnished cover of which shone with dirt, “I am distracted, and have come to ask your advice and assistance.”
“Is it a helpless ould creature like me you'd come to?” replied Corbet, hitching himself upon the sofa, as if to get ease. “But what is wrong now?”
“If this marriage between Miss Gourlay and Lord Dunroe takes place, I shall lose my senses.”
“Well, in troth,” replied Anthony, in his own peculiar manner, “if you don't get more than you appear to be gifted with at present, you won't have much to lose, and that will be one comfort. But how can you expect me to assist you?”
“Did you not tell me that the baronet is your puppet?”
“I did; but that was for my ends, not for yours.”
“Well, but could you not prevent this accursed, sacrilegious, blasphemous union?”
“For God's sake, spake aisy, and keep yourself quiet,” said Anthony; “I am ill, and not able to bear noise and capering like this. I'm a weak, feeble ould man.”
“Listen to me, Corbet,” continued the other, with vehemence, “command my purse, my means to any extent, if you do what I wish.”