“Proceed, then,” said Lord Cullamore; “and do you, Lady Gourlay, restrain your emotion, if you can.”

“Thomas Gourlay—­I spake now to the father, my lord,” said Corbet.

“Sir Thomas Gourlay, sir!” said the baronet, haughtily and indignantly, “Sir Thomas Gourlay!”

“Thomas Gourlay,” persisted Corbet, “it is now nineteen years, or thereabouts, since you engaged me, myself—­I am the man—­to take away the son of your brother, and you know the ordhers you gave me.  I did so:  I got a mask, and took him away with me on the pretence of bringin’ him to see a puppet-show.  Well, he disappeared, and your mind, I suppose, was aisy.  I tould you all was right, and every year from that to this you have paid me a pension of fifty pounds.”

“The man is mad, my lord,” said Sir Thomas; “and, under all circumstances, he makes himself out a villain.”

“I can perceive no evidence of madness, so far,” replied his lordship; “proceed.”

“None but a villain would have served your purposes; but if I was a villain, it wasn’t to bear out your wishes, but to satisfy my own revenge.”

“But what cause for revenge could you have had against him?” asked, his lordship.

“What cause?” exclaimed the old man, whilst his countenance grew dark as night, “what cause against the villain that seduced my daughter—­that brought disgrace and shame upon my family—­that broke through the ties of nature, which are always held sacred in our country, for she was his own foster-sister, my lord, suckled at the same breasts, nursed in the same arms, and fed and clothed and nourished by the same hand;—­yes, my lord, that brought shame and disgrace and madness, my lord—­ay, madness upon my child, that he deceived and corrupted, under a solemn oath of marriage.  Do you begin to undherstand me now, my lord?”

His lordship made no reply, but kept his eyes intently fixed upon him.

“Well, my lord, soon after the disappearance of Lady Gourlay’s child, his own went in the same way; and no search, no hunt, no attempt to get him ever succeeded.  He, any more than the other, could not be got.  My lord, it was I removed him.  I saw far before me, and it was I removed him; yes, Thomas Gourlay, it was I left you childless—­at least of a son.”

“You must yourself see, my lord,” said the baronet, “that—­that—­when is this marriage to take place?—­what is this?—­I am quite confused; let me see, let me see—­yes, he is such a villain, my lord, that you must perceive he is entitled to no credit—­to none whatsoever.”

“Well, my lord,” proceeded Corbet.

“I think, my lord,” said Thomas Corbet, stepping forward, “that I ought to acquaint your lordship with my father’s infirmity.  Of late, my lord, he has been occasionally unsettled in his senses.  I can prove this on oath.”

“And if what he states be true,” replied his lordship, “I am not surprised at it; it is only right we should hear him, however, as I have already said, I can perceive no traces of insanity about him.”