riend," said he, as Corbet was about to go away; "if
Miss Gourlay will not receive or open my letter, why did you accept such
a sum of money for it?" He paused, not knowing exactly how to proceed,
yet with a tolerably strong suspicion that Corbet was cheating him.

"Observe, sir," replied the other, "that I said I would deliver the
letter only--I didn't undertake to make her read it. But I dare say you
are right--I don't think she will even open it at all, much less read
it. Here, sir, I return both money and letter; and I wish you to know,
besides, that I am not a man in the habit of being suspected of improper
motives. My advice that you should see my father is a proof that I am
your friend."

The other, who was completely outmanoeuvred by Corbet, at once declined
to receive back either the letter or notes, and after again pressing the
worthy steward to befriend him in the matter of the note as far as he
could, he once more paid a visit to old Anthony. This occurred on the
day before that appointed for the marriage.

"Corbet," said he, addressing him as he lay upon an old crazy sofa, the
tarnished cover of which shone with dirt, "I am distracted, and have
come to ask your advice and assistance."

"Is it a helpless ould creature like me you'd come to?" replied Corbet,
hitching himself upon the sofa, as if to get ease. "But what is wrong
now?"

"If this marriage between Miss Gourlay and Lord Dunroe takes place, I
shall lose my senses."

"Well, in troth," replied Anthony, in his own peculiar manner, "if you
don't get more than you appear to be gifted with at present, you won't
have much to lose, and that will be one comfort. But how can you expect
me to assist you?"

"Did you not tell me that the baronet is your puppet?"

"I did; but that was for my ends, not for yours."

"Well, but could you not prevent this accursed, sacrilegious,
blasphemous union?"

"For God's sake, spake aisy, and keep yourself quiet," said Anthony; "I
am ill, and not able to bear noise and capering like this. I'm a weak,
feeble ould man."

"Listen to me, Corbet," continued the other, with vehemence, "command my
purse, my means to any extent, if you do what I wish."

"I did like money," implied Corbet, "but of late my whole heart is
filled with but one thought; and rather than not carry that out, I would
sacrifice every child I have. I love Miss Gourlay, for I know she is a
livin' angel, but--"

"What? You do not mean to say that yo