“I did like money,” implied Corbet, “but of late my whole heart is filled with but one thought; and rather than not carry that out, I would sacrifice every child I have. I love Miss Gourlay, for I know she is a livin' angel, but—”
“What? You do not mean to say that you would sacrifice her?”
“If I would sacrifice my own, do you think I'd be apt to spare her?” he asked with a groan, for in fact his illness had rather increased.
“Are you not better?” inquired the stranger, moved by a feeling of humanity which nothing could eradicate out of his noble and generous nature. “Allow me to send a doctor to you? I shall do so at my own expense.”
Anthony looked upon him with more complacency, but replied,
“The blackguard knaves, no; they only rob you first and kill you afterwards. A highway-robber's before them; for he kills you first, and afther that you can't feel the pain of being robbed. Well, I can't talk much to you now. My head's beginnin' to get troublesome; but I'll tell you what you'll do. I'll call for that young man, Fenton, and you must let him come with me to the wedding to-morrow mornin'. Indeed, I intended to take a car, and drive over to ask it as a favor from you.”
“To what purpose should he go, even if he were able? but he is too ill.”
“Hasn't he been out in a chaise?”
“He has; but as he is incapable of bearing any agitation or excitement, his presence there might cause his death.”
“No, sir, it will not; I knew him to be worse, and he recovered; he will be better, I tell you: besides, if you wish me to sarve you in one way, you must sarve me in this.”