gainst the bosses of the Almighty's buckler. His heart beat,
and his brain throbbed; all presence of mind, almost all consciousness,
abandoned him, and he only felt that the great object of his life was
lost--the great plan, to the completion of which he had devoted all his
energies, was annihilated. He imagined that the apartment was filled
with gloom and fire, and that the faces he saw about him were mocking at
him, and disclosing to each other in whispers the dreadful extent, the
unutterable depth of his despair and misery. He also felt a sickness
of heart, that was in itself difficult to contend with, and a weakness
about the knees that rendered it nearly impossible for him to stand. His
head, too, became light and giddy, and his brain reeled so much that
he tottered, and was obliged to sit, in order to prevent himself from
falling. All, however, was not to end here. This was but the first blow.

Lord Cullamore was now about to depart; for he, too, had become
exceedingly weak and exhausted, by the unusual exercise and agitation to
which he had exposed himself.

Old Anthony Corbet then stepped forward, and said,

"Don't go, my lord. There's strange things to come to light this day and
this hour, for this is the day and this is the hour of my vengeance."

"I do not understand you," replied his lordship; "I was scarcely equal
to the effort of coming here, and I feel myself very feeble."

"Get his lordship some wine," said the old man, addressing his son. "You
will be good enough to stop, my lord," he proceeded, "for a short time.
You are a magistrate, and your presence here may be necessary."

"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, surprised at such language: "this may be
serious. Proceed, my friend: what disclosures have you to make?"

Old Corbet did not answer him, but turning round to the baronet, who
was not then in a capacity to hear or observe anything apart from the
terrible convulsions of agony he was suffering, he looked upon him, his
keen old eyes in a blaze, his lips open and their expression sharpened
by the derisive and satanic triumph that was legible in the demon sneer
which kept them apart.

"Thomas Gourlay!" he exclaimed in a sharp, piercing voice of authority
and conscious power, "Thomas Gourlay, rise up and stand forward, your
day of doom is come."

"Who is it that has the insolence to call my father Thomas Gourlay under
this roof?" asked his son Thomas, alias Mr. Ambrose Gray. "Begone, old
man, you