Gibson shook his head, but at the same time the expression of his countenance began manifestly to relax, and he licked his lips as he replied, “I—­really—­could—­not—­sir.”

“Twenty.”

The fellow paused and looked stealthily in every direction, when, just at the moment he was about to entertain the subject, Thomas Corbet, the house-steward, came forward from the front parlor where he evidently had been listening, and asked Gibson what was the matter.

“This gentleman,” said Gibson, “ahem—­is anxious to have a—­ahem—­he was inquiring for Sir Thomas.”

“Gibson, go down stairs,” said Corbet.  “You had better do so.  I have ears, Gibson.  Go down at once, and leave the gentleman to me.”

Gibson again licked his lips, shrugged his shoulders, and with a visage rather blank and disappointed, slunk away as he had been desired.  When he had gone,

“You wish, sir,” said Corbet, “to have a note delivered to Miss Gourlay?”

“I do, and will give you twenty pounds if you deliver it.”

“Hand me the money quietly,” replied Corbet, “and the note also.  I shall then give you a friend’s advice.”

The stranger immediately placed both the money and the note in his hands; when Corbet, having put them in his pocket, said, “I will deliver the note, sir; but go to my father, and ask him to prevent this marriage; and, above all things, to direct you how to act.  If any man can serve you in the business, he can.”

“Could you not let me see Miss Gourlay herself?” said the stranger.

“No, sir; she has promised her father neither to see you, nor to write to you, nor to receive any letters from you.”

“But I must see Sir Thomas himself,” said the stranger determinedly.

“You seem a good deal excited, sir,” replied Corbet; “pray, be calm, and listen to me.  I shall be obliged to put this letter under a blank cover, which I will address in a feigned hand, in order that she may even receive it.  As for her father, he would not see you, nor enter into any explanation whatsoever with you.  In fact, he is almost out of his mind with delight and terror; with delight, that the marriage is at length about to take place, and with terror, lest something might occur to prevent it.  One word, sir.  I see Gibson peeping up.  Go and see my father; you have seen him more than once before.”

On the part of Corbet, the stranger remarked that there was something sneaking, slightly derisive, and intimating, moreover, a want of sincerity in this short dialogue, an impression that was strengthened on hearing the relation which he bore to the obstinate old sphinx on Constitution Hill.

“But pardon me, my friend,” said he, as Corbet was about to go away; “if Miss Gourlay will not receive or open my letter, why did you accept such a sum of money for it?” He paused, not knowing exactly how to proceed, yet with a tolerably strong suspicion that Corbet was cheating him.