“I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of your kindness. I told you so. I found the book, sir, that night, when you had too much wine at Barbeau's.”
“And read the letters?” asked Mr. Warrington, starting up and turning very red.
“They told me nothing I did not know, sir,” said the chaplain “You have had spies about you whom you little suspect—from whom you are much too young and simple to be able to keep your secret.”
“Are those stories about Lady Fanny, and my cousin Will and his doings, true then?” inquired Harry.
“Yes, they are true,” sighed the chaplain. “The house of Castlewood has not been fortunate, sir, since your honour's branch, the elder branch, left it.”
“Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady Maria?” Harry cried out.
“Oh, not for worlds!” says Mr. Sampson, with a queer look at his young friend. “I may think she is too old for your honour, and that 'tis a pity you should not have a wife better suited to your age, though I admit she looks very young for hers, and hath every virtue and accomplishment.”
“She is too old, Sampson, I know she is,” says Mr. Warrington, with much majesty; “but she has my word, and you see, sir, how fond she is of me. Go bring me the letters, sir, which you found, and let me try and forgive you for having seized upon them.”
“My benefactor, let me try and forgive myself!” cries Mr. Sampson, and departed towards his chamber, leaving his young patron alone over his wine.
Sampson returned presently, looking very pale. “What has happened, sir?” says Harry, with an imperious air.