that could not bear the touch of a finger without melting into air.  It was true he was naturally cunning, but then he was also naturally profligate and vicious; and although not without intellect, yet was he deficient in self-command to restrain himself when necessary.  Altogether, his character was bad, and scarcely presented to any one a favorable aspect.  When affected with liquor he was at once quarrelsome and cowardly—­always the first to provoke a fight, and the first, also, to sneak out of it.

Soon after the disappearance of Sir Edward Gourlay’s heir, the notion of removing the baronet’s own son occurred, not to his mother, nor to her brother, but to old Corbet, who desired his son Charles, then a young man, and the baronet’s foster-brother, as a preparatory step to his ultimate designs, to inform him that his illegitimate son was dead.  Sir Thomas at this time had not assumed the title, nor taken possession of the immense estates.

“Mr. Gourlay,” said Charles, “that child is dead; I was desired to tell you so by my father, who doesn’t wish to speak to you himself upon the subject.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Gourlay, “what affair is that of mine?”

“Why,” said the other, “as the unfortunate mother is insane, and without means of providing decently for its burial, he thinks it only reasonable that you should furnish money for that purpose—­he, I know, won’t.”

“What do you mean by providing decently?” asked Mr. Gourlay.  “What stuff that is!—­throw the brat into a shell, and bury it.  I am cursedly glad it’s gone.  There’s half-a-crown, and pitch it into the nearest kennel.  Why the deuce do you come to me with such a piece of information?”

Charles Corbet, being his father’s son, looked at him, and we need not at any length describe the nature of that look nor the feeling it conveyed.  This passed, but was not forgotten; and on being detailed by Charles Corbet to his father, the latter replied,

“Ah, the villain—­that’s his feelin’, is it!  Well, never mind, I’ll punish him one day.”

Some months after this he came into Mr. Gourlay’s study, with a very solemn and anxious face, and said,

“I have something to say to you, sir.”

“Well, Anthony, what is it you have to say to me?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, sir, and I know I oughtn’t to alarm you or disturb your mind; but still I think I ought to put you on your guard.”

“Confound your caution, sir; can’t you come out with whatever you have to say at once?”

“Would it be possible, sir, that there could be any danger of the child bein’ taken away like the other—­like your brother’s?”

“What do you mean—­why do you ask such a question?”

“Bekaise, sir, I observed for the last few days a couple of strange men peepin’ and pimpin’ about the place, and wherever the child went they kept dodgin’ afther him.”

“But why should any one think of taking him away?”