“To what purpose should he go, even if he were able? but he is too ill.”

“Hasn’t he been out in a chaise?”

“He has; but as he is incapable of bearing any agitation or excitement, his presence there might cause his death.”

“No, sir, it will not; I knew him to be worse, and he recovered; he will be better, I tell you:  besides, if you wish me to sarve you in one way, you must sarve me in this.”

“But can you prevent the marriage?”

“What I can do, or what I cannot do, a team of horses won’t drag out o’ me, until the time—­the hour—­comes—­then!  Will you allow the young man to come, sir?”

“But his mother, you say, will be there, and a scene between them would be not only distressing to all parties, and out of place, but might be dangerous to him.”

“It’s because his mother’s to be there, maybe, that I want him to be there.  Don’t I tell you that I want to—­but no, I’ll keep my own mind to myself—­only sink or swim without me, unless you allow him to come.”

“Well, then, if he be sufficiently strong to go, I shall not prevent him, upon the condition that you will exercise the mysterious influence which you seem in possession of for the purpose of breaking up the marriage.”

“I won’t promise to do any such thing,” replied Anthony.  “You must only make the best of a bad bargain, by lavin’ everything to myself.  Go away now, sir, if you plaise; my head’s not right, and I want to keep it clear for to-morrow.”

The stranger saw that he was as inscrutable as ever, and consequently left him, half in indignation, and half impressed by a lurking hope that, notwithstanding the curtness of his manner, he was determined to befriend him.

This, however, was far from the heart of old Corbet, whose pertinacity of purpose nothing short of death itself could either moderate or change.

“Prevent the marriage, indeed!  Oh, ay!  Catch me at it.  No, no; that must take place, or I’m balked of half my revenge.  It’s when he finds that he has, by his own bad and blind passions, married her to the profligate without the title that he’ll shiver.  And that scamp, too, the bastard—­but, no matther—­I must try and keep my head clear, as I said, for to-morrow will be a great day, either for good or evil, to some of them.  Yes, and when all is over, then my mind will be at aise; this black thing that’s inside o’ me for years—­drivin’ me on, on, on—­will go about his business; and then, plaise goodness, I can repent comfortably and like a Christian.  Oh, dear me!—­my head!”

CHAPTER XLI.  Denouement.