“Unlucky,” said Phil, “faith and honor, my good father, I don't know what to think.”
“You don't, Phil!” replied Val; “why, what the deuce could you deem more unlucky than to be shot stone dead, without a moment's notice.”
Phil's color went a little at the bare notion of such a fate; but on observing an expression of peculiar complacency lurking in his father's eye, it returned again, and after a little assurance settled down into its original hue.
“To himself certainly,” said Phil, “it was a bad business; no one can deny that.”
“But, my excellent son, Phil, it may turn out a very lucky incident for us in the mean time. He is, Phil, a wise man in this world who can turn the misfortunes or crimes of others to his own advantage. There is Harman for instance, Phil; now I believe you are not excessively attached to him.”
“I hate him as I do hell,” replied Phil.
“Very good—you hate him as you do hell—well, on the other hand, there is M'Loughlin, his partner in the manufactory, and his joint lessee in their farm—now I hate him as I do—I was about to say the devil—but I feel loth to render that misrepresented gentleman an injustice—that is, if there be such a gentleman—which, with my worthy father, I much doubt. Don't you think now it is a fortunate thing that we can indict Harman for Harpur's murder. I really think, and it is said, he murdered him. We would include the priest in the indictment as accessory, but that might be attended with personal danger—and the less real danger we incur the better for ourselves.”
“Faith and honor, father, that doctrine's worthy of an oracle—as, indeed, most of what you say is.”
“But mark me, Phil; our object is simply his ruin, not his death. Let us beggar M'Loughlin and him, and drive them out of the country. No—no—not the death of either of them; on the contrary, I should wish them to live, if it was only that they might feel my revenge—and that I knew they felt it. I would not hang them if I could, for my own sake.” He got pale, ground his teeth, knit his black beetle brow, and exhibited the diabolical cast of features for which he was remarkable whenever his evil passions began to stir in his heart.
“Now,” said he to Phil, “keep a close mouth above all things, for we must proceed with caution. I have here a letter from Lord Cumber, in which, at my private suggestion, he declines to renew their leases. Indeed, on serious consideration, I have recently advised him to grant no renewals, except in cases where every reliance can be placed upon the principles of the parties. The want of a lease is a very wholesome restriction on the conduct of our enemies. M'Slime opposes me in this, because he cannot pocket as much as usual; but though I cannot readily break with him, still, I trust, that in a short time I shall be able to turn his flank in a manner for which he is but little prepared. I have reason to think he is tampering with O'Drive—in fact O'Drive told me as much—O'Drive, however, is at work for me, although honest Solomon does not suspect him. The pious attorney, who is bestowing more of his attention to religion than ever, has got bitten by the Conversion mania, and thinks he will be charged with a neglect of his gifts, as he calls them, unless he can produce a live convert actually made by his own hands. I accordingly suggested to O'Drive to consult him on some religious scruples that he is supposed to have felt from the perusal of a tract written by M'Slime himself.