e sufferings, and tortures, and hellish scourgings, and
chains, and cells, and darkness, and damp, and cruelty of all shapes,
were breakin' down the son of his brother to death--the heir that
stood between himself and his unlawful title, and his unlawful
property--instead of that, they were all inflicted upon his own lawfully
begotten son, who now lies there--dead!"

"What is the matter with Sir Thomas Gourlay?" said his lordship; "what
is wrong?"

Sir Thomas's conduct, whilst old Corbet was proceeding to detail these
frightful and harrowing developments, gave once or twice strong symptoms
of incoherency, more, indeed, by his action than his language. He
seized, for instance, the person next him, unfortunate Dr. Sombre, and
after squeezing his arm until it became too painful to bear, he ground
his teeth, looked into his face, and asked, "Do you think--would you
swear--that--that--ay--that there is a God?" Then, looking at Corbet,
and trying to recollect himself, he exclaimed, "Villain, demon,
devil;" and he then struck or rather throttled the Doctor, as he sat
beside him. They succeeded, however, in composing him, but his eyes were
expressive of such wildness and horror and blood-shot frenzy, that one
or two of them sat close to him, for the purpose of restraining his
tendency to violence.

Lady Gourlay, on hearing that Fenton was not her son, wept bitterly,
exclaiming, "Alas! I am twice made childless." But Lucy, who had
awakened out of the deathlike stupor of misery which had oppressed her
all the morning, now became conscious of the terrible disclosures which
old Corbet was making; and on hearing that Fenton was, or rather
had been, her brother, she flew to him, and on looking at his pale,
handsome, but lifeless features, she threw her arms around him, kissed
his lips in an agony of sorrow, and exclaimed, "And is it thus we meet,
my brother! No word to recognize your sister? No glance of that eye,
that is closed forever, to welcome me to your heart? Oh! miserable fate,
my brother! We meet in death. You are now with our mother; and Lucy,
your sister, whom you never saw, will soon join you. You are gone! Your
wearied and broken spirit fled from disgrace and sorrow. Yes; I shall
soon meet you, where your lips will not be passive to the embraces of
a sister, and where your eyes will not be closed against those looks of
affection and tenderness which she was prepared to give you, but which
you could not receive. Ah, he