Here he was left once more in his tribulations, for as he uttered the last word, Gibson returned, pronouncing in a distinct but respectful voice, “The Earl of Cullamore;” and that nobleman, leaning upon the arm of his confidential servant, Morty O’Flaherty, immediately entered the room.

His venerable look, his feeble state of health, but, above all his amiable character, well known as it was for everything that was honorable and benevolent, produced the effect which might be expected.  All who were not standing, immediately rose up to do him reverence and honor.  He inclined his head in token of acknowledgment, but even before the baronet had time to address him, he said,

“Sir Thomas Gourlay, has this marriage yet taken place?”

“No, my lord,” replied Sir Thomas, “and I am glad it has not.  Your lordship’s presence is a sanction and an honor which, considering your state of ill-health, is such as we must all duly appreciate.  I am delighted to see you here, my lord; allow me to help your lordship to a seat.”

“I thank you, Sir Thomas,” replied his lordship; “but before I take a seat, or before you proceed further in this business, I beg to have some private conversation with you.”

“With infinite pleasure, my lord,” replied the baronet.  “Dr. Sombre, whilst his lordship and I are speaking, you may as well go on with the ceremony.  When it is necessary, call me, and I shall give the bride away.”

“Dr. Sombre,” said his lordship, “do not proceed with the ceremony, until I shall have spoken to Miss Gourlay’s father.  If it be necessary that I should speak more plainly, I say, I forbid the banns.  You will not have to wait long, Doctor; but by no means proceed with the ceremony until you shall have permission from Sir Thomas Gourlay.”

In general, any circumstance that tends to prevent a marriage, where all the parties are assembled to witness it, and to enjoy the festivities that attend it, is looked upon with a strong feeling of dissatisfaction.  Here, however, the case was different.  Scarcely an individual among them, with the exception of those who were interested in the event, that did not feel a sense of relief at what had occurred in consequence of the appearance of Lord Cullamore.  Dunroe’s face from that moment was literally a sentence of guilt against himself.  It became blank, haggard, and of a ghastly white; while his hope of securing the rich and lovely heiress died away within him.  He resolved, however, to make a last effort.

“Roberts,” said he, “go to Sombre, and whisper to him to proceed with the ceremony.  Get him to perform it, and you are sure of a certain sister of mine, who I rather suspect is not indifferent to you.”

“I must decline to do so, my lord,” replied Roberts.  “After what has just occurred, I feel that it would not be honorable in me, neither would it be respectful to your father.  However I may esteem your sister, my lord, and appreciate her virtues, yet I am but a poor ensign, as you know, and not in a capacity to entertain any pretensions—­”