“And, pray, were you aware of that this morning?”
“As clearly and distinctly as you were that you had no earthly claim to the title which you bear, nor to the property of your father,” replied the baronet, with a look that matched that of the other. There they stood, face to face, each detected in his dishonor and iniquity, and on that account disqualified to recriminate upon each other, for their mutual perfidy.
“Corbet,” said the baronet, now recovering himself, “what is this? Respect my house and family—respect my guests. Go home; I pardon you this folly, because I see that you have been too liberal in your potations this morning.”
“You mistake me, sir,” replied the adroit old man; “I am going to do you a service. Call forward Thomas Gourlay.”
This considerably relieved the baronet, who took it for granted that it was his son whom he had called in the first instance.
“What!” exclaimed Lord Cullamore, “is it possible, Sir Thomas, that you have recovered your lost son?”
“It is, my lord,” replied the other. “Thomas, come over till I present you to my dear friend Lord Cullamore.”
Young Gourlay advanced, and the earl was in the act of extending his hand to him, when old Anthony interposed, by drawing it back.
“Stop, my lord,” said he; “that hand is the hand of a man of honor, but you must not soil it by touchin' that of a bastard and impostor.”
“That is my son, my lord,” replied Sir Thomas, “and I acknowledge him as such.”