“Is not Fenton in town?” asked the stranger.

“No, sir; he has neither been seen nor heard of since that night, and the people’s beginin’ to wonder what has become of him.”

Here was a disappointment; just at the moment when he had determined, by seizing upon Fenton, with a view to claim him as the son of the late Sir Edward Gourlay, and the legitimate heir of Red Hall, in order, if it were legally possible, to bring about an investigation into the justice of those claims, it turned out that, as if in anticipation of his designs, the young man either voluntarily disappeared, or else was spirited forcibly away.  How to act now he felt himself completely at a loss, but as two heads he knew were better than one, he resolved to see Father M’Mahon, and ask his opinion and advice upon this strange and mysterious occurrence.  In the mean time, while he is on the way to visit that amiable and benevolent priest, we shall so far gratify the reader as to throw some light upon the unaccountable disappearance of the unfortunate Fenton.

CHAPTER XVI.

Conception and Perpetration of a Diabolical Plot against Fenton.

Sir Thomas Gourlay was a man prompt and inexorable in following up his resolutions.  On the night of Lucy’s flight from Red Hall, he had concocted a plan which it was not his intention to put in execution for a day or two, as he had by no means made up his mind in what manner to proceed with it.  On turning over the matter, however, a second time in his thoughts, and comparing the information which he had received from Crackenfudge respecting the stranger, and the allusion to the toothpick manufacturer, he felt morally certain that Fenton was his brother’s son, and that by some means or other unknown to him he had escaped from the asylum in which he had been placed, and by some unaccountable fatality located himself in the town of Ballytrain, which, in fact, was a portion of his inheritance.

“I am wrong,” thought he, “in deferring this project.  There is not a moment to be lost.  Some chance incident, some early recollection, even a sight of myself—­for he saw me once or twice, to his cost—­may awaken feelings which, by some unlucky association, might lead to a discovery.  Curse on the cowardly scoundrel, Corbet, that did not take my hint, and put him at once and forever out of my path, sight, and hearing.  But he had scruples, forsooth; and here now is the serpent unconsciously crossing my path.  This is the third time he has escaped and broken out of bounds.  Upon the two former I managed him myself, without a single witness; and, but that I had lost my own child—­and there is a mystery I cannot penetrate—­I would have—­”

Here he rang the bell, and a servant entered.

“Send up Gillespie.”

The servant, as usual, bowed, and Gillespie entered.

“Gillespie, there is a young fellow in Ballytrain, named—­Fenton, I think?”