“Bastard and impostor!” readied Anthony, “you appear before your time.  Thomas Gourlay, did you hear me?”

By an effort—­almost a superhuman effort—­the baronet succeeded in turning his attention to what was going forward.

“What is this?” he exclaimed; “is this a tumult?  Who dares to stir up a tumult in such a scene as this?  Begone!” said he, addressing several strangers, who appeared to take a deep interest in what was likely to ensue.  The house was his own, and, as a matter of course, every one left the room with the exception of those immediately connected with both families, and with the incidents of our story.

“Let no one go,” said Anthony, “that I appointed to come here.”

“What!” said Dunroe, after the strangers had gone, and with a look that indicated his sense of the baronet’s duplicity, “is this gentleman your son?”

“My acknowledged son, sir,” replied the other.

“And, pray, were you aware of that this morning?”

“As clearly and distinctly as you were that you had no earthly claim to the title which you bear, nor to the property of your father,” replied the baronet, with a look that matched that of the other.  There they stood, face to face, each detected in his dishonor and iniquity, and on that account disqualified to recriminate upon each other, for their mutual perfidy.

“Corbet,” said the baronet, now recovering himself, “what is this?  Respect my house and family—­respect my guests.  Go home; I pardon you this folly, because I see that you have been too liberal in your potations this morning.”

“You mistake me, sir,” replied the adroit old man; “I am going to do you a service.  Call forward Thomas Gourlay.”

This considerably relieved the baronet, who took it for granted that it was his son whom he had called in the first instance.

“What!” exclaimed Lord Cullamore, “is it possible, Sir Thomas, that you have recovered your lost son?”

“It is, my lord,” replied the other.  “Thomas, come over till I present you to my dear friend Lord Cullamore.”

Young Gourlay advanced, and the earl was in the act of extending his hand to him, when old Anthony interposed, by drawing it back.

“Stop, my lord,” said he; “that hand is the hand of a man of honor, but you must not soil it by touchin’ that of a bastard and impostor.”

“That is my son, my lord,” replied Sir Thomas, “and I acknowledge him as such.”

“So you may, sir,” replied Corbet, “and so you ought; but I say that if he is your son, he is also my grandson.”

“Corbet,” said his lordship, “you had better explain yourself.  This, Sir Thomas, is a matter very disagreeable to me, and which I should not wish even to hear; but as it is possible that the interests of my dear friend here.  Lady Gourlay, may be involved in it, I think it my duty not to go.”

“Her ladyship’s interests are involved in it, my lord,” replied Corbet; “and you are right to stay, if it was only for her sake.  Now, my lady,” he added, addressing her, “I see how you are sufferin’, but I ask it as a favor that you will keep yourself quiet, and let me go on.”