e--the terrible pistol at his brain--Dunroe--and all those
who were more or less concerned in or affected by his schemes, flitted
through his disturbed fancy like the figures in a magic lantern,
rendering his sleep feverish, disturbed, and by many degrees more
painful than his waking reflections.

It has been frequently observed, that violence and tyranny overshoot
their mark; and we may add, that no craft, however secret its
operations, or rather however secret they are designed to be, can cope
with the consequences of even the simplest accident. A short, feverish
attack of illness having seized Mrs. Morgan, the housekeeper, on the
night of Fenton's removal, she persuaded one of the maids to sit up with
her, in order to provide her with whey and nitre, which she took from
time to time, for the purpose of relieving her by cooling the system.
The attack though short was a sharp one, and the poor woman was really
very ill. In the course of the night, this girl was somewhat surprised
by hearing noises in and about the stables, and as she began to
entertain apprehension from robbers, she considered it her duty to
consult the sick woman as to the steps she ought to take.

"Take no steps," replied the prudent housekeeper, "till we know, if we
can, what the noise proceeds from. Go into that closet, but don't take
the candle, lest the light of it might alarm them--it overlooks the
stable-yard--open the window gently; you know it turns upon hinges--and
look out cautiously. If Sir Thomas is disturbed by a false alarm, you
might fly at once; for somehow of late he has lost all command of his
temper."

"But we know the reason of that, Mrs. Morgan," replied the girl. "It's
because Miss Gourlay refuses to marry Lord Dunroe, and because he's
afraid that she'll run away with a very handsome gentleman that stops in
the Mitre. That's what made him lock her up."

"Don't you breathe a syllable of that," said the cautious Mrs. Morgan,
"for fear you might get locked up yourself. You know, nothing that
happens in this family is ever to be spoken of to any one, on pain of
Sir Thomas's severest displeasure; and you have not come to this time
of day without understanding what what means. But don't talk to me,
or rather, don't expect me to talk to you. My head is very ill, and my
pulse going at a rapid rate. Another drink of that whey, Nancy; then
see, if you can, what that noise means."

Nancy, having handed her the whey, went to the closet