“Hem!—­well, I don’t know, sir; but you know that the heir was taken away.”

“Come, Anthony, be quiet—­walls have ears; go on.”

“What ’ud you think if there was sich a thing as revinge in the world?  I’m not suspectin’ any one, but at the same time, a woman’s revinge is the worst and deepest of all revinges.  You know very well that she suspects you—­and, indeed, so does the world.”

“But very wrongly, you know, Anthony,” replied the baronet, with a smile dark as murder.

“Why, ay, to be sure,” replied the instrument, squirting the tobacco spittle into the fire, and turning on him a grin that might be considered a suitable commentary upon the smile of his employer.

“But,” added Mr. Gourlay, “what if it should be the father, instead of the son, they want?”

“But why would they be dodgin’ about the child, sir?”

“True; it is odd enough.  Well, I shall give orders to have him well watched.”

“And, with the help o’ God, I’ll put a mark upon him that’ll make him be known, at any rate, through all changes, barrin’ they should take his life.”

“How do you mean by a mark!” asked the other.

“I learnt it in the army, sir, when I was with Sir Edward.  It’s done by gunpowder.  It can do no harm, and will at any time durin’ his life make him known among millions.  It can do no harm, at any rate, sir.”

“Very well, Anthony—­very well,” replied Mr. Gourlay; “mark him as you like, and when it is done, let me see it.”

In about a fortnight afterwards, old Corbet brought his son to him, and raising his left arm, showed him the child’s initials distinctly marked on the under part of it, together with a cross and the family crest; all so plainly and neatly executed, that the father was surprised at it.

Nothing, however, happened at that time; vigilance began to relax as suspicion diminished, until one morning, about eight months afterwards, it was found that the child had disappeared.  It is unnecessary to add, that every possible step was taken to discover him.  Searches were made, the hue and cry was up, immense rewards were offered; but all in vain.  From that day forth neither trace nor tidings of him could be found, and in the course of time he was given up, like the heir of the property, altogether for lost.

CHAPTER XXXII.  Discovery of the Baronet’s Son

—­Who, however, is Shelved for a Time.

Lord Dunroe, as had already been agreed upon between him and her father, went directly to that worthy gentleman, that he might make a faithful report of the interview.

“Well, Dunroe,” said the baronet, “what’s the news?  How did it go off?”

“Just as we expected,” replied the other.  “Vapors, entreaties, and indignation.  I give you my honor, she asked me to become her advocate with you, in order to get released from the engagement.  That was rather cool, wasn’t it?”