"Well? Well? Well?"

"Soon after that, your son, Master Thomas, disappeared. You may
understand me now: it was she who took him."

"Ah! the vindictive vagabond!" exclaimed the baronet.

"Have patience, Sir Thomas. She took your little boy with no kind
intention toward him: her object was to leave you without a son; her
object, in fact, was, at first, to murder him, in consequence of your
want, as she thought, of all paternal affection for him she had just
lost, and, in short, of your whole conduct toward her. The mother's
instinct, however, proved stronger than her revenge. She could not take
away the child's life for the thought of her own; but she privately
placed him with an uncle of ours, a classical hedge-school-master, in a
remote part of the kingdom, with whom he lived under a feigned name, and
from whom he received a good education."

"But where is he now?" asked the other. "How does he live? Why not bring
him here?"

"He must first wait your pleasure, you know, Sir Thomas. He's in town,
and has been in town for some time, a student in college."

"That's very good, indeed; we must have him out of college, though. Poor
Lucy will go distracted with joy, to know that she has now a brother.
Bring him here, Corbet; but stop, stay--his appearance now--let me
see--caution, Corbet--caution. We must look before us. Miss Gourlay, you
know, is about to be married. Dunroe, I understand; he cares little or
nothing personally about the girl--it is her fortune, but principally
her inheritance, he loves. It is true, he doesn't think that I even
suspect this, much less feel certain of it. How does the young fellow
look, though? Good looking--eh?"

"Exceedingly like his father, sir; as you will admit on seeing him."

"He must have changed considerably, then; for I remember he was supposed
to bear a nearer resemblance to his mother and her family, the only
thing which took him down a little in my affection. But hold; hang it,
I am disturbed more than I have been this long time. What was I speaking
of, Corbet? I forgot--by the way, I hope this is not a bad sign of my
health."

"You were talking of Dunroe, sir, and Miss Gourlay's marriage."

"Oh, yes, so I was. Well--yes--here it is, Corbet--is it not
possible that the appearance of this young man at this particular
crisis--stepping in, as he does, between Dunroe and the very property
his heart is set upon--might knock the thing to pieces? and there is
all that I have