“But what do you intend to do? If she marries your brother the property goes to him—and you may go whistle.”
“I don't give it up, though—I bear a brain still, I think; but the truth is, I have not completed my plan of operations. What I am to do, I know not yet exactly. If I could break off the match between her and my brother, she might probably, through the influence of her parents and other causes, he persuaded into a reluctant marriage with Harry Woodward; time, however, will tell, and I must only work my way through the difficulty as well as I can. I will now leave you, and I don't think I shall be able to see you again for a week to come.”
“Before you go let me ask if you know a vagabond called Ranting Rody, who goes about through the country living no one knows how?”
“No, I do not know him; what is he?”
“He's nothing except a paramour of Caterine Collins's, who, you know, is a rival of ours; nobody here knows anything about him, whilst he, it appears, knows every one and everything.”
“He would make a good conjurer,” replied Woodward, smiling.
“If the fellow could be depended on,” replied the other, “he might be useful; in fact, I am of opinion that if he wished he could trace Shawn-na-Middogue's haunts. The scoundrel attempted just now to impose upon me in the dress of a woman, and, were it not that I knew him so well, he might have got my beard stripped from my face, and my bones broken besides; but I feel confident that if any one could trace and secure the outlaw, he could—I mean with proper assistance. Think of this.”
“I shall find him out,” replied Woodward, “and sound him, at all events, and I think through Caterine Collins I may possibly secure him; but we must be cautious. Good-by; I wish you success!”
After which he passed through the crowd, exclaiming,
“A wonderful man—an astonishing man—and a fearful man; that is if he be a man, which I very much doubt.”