CHAPTER VIII.  The Fortune-Teller—­An Equivocal Prediction.

The stranger’s appearance at the “Mitre,” and the incident which occurred there, were in a peculiar degree mortifying to the Black Baronet, for so he was generally called.  At this precise period he had projected the close of the negotiation with respect to the contemplated marriage between Lucy and Lord Dunroe.  Lord Cullamore, whose residence was only a few miles from Red Hall, had been for some time in delicate health, but he was now sufficiently recovered to enter upon the negotiation proposed, to which, were it not for certain reasons that will subsequently appear, he had, in truth, no great relish; and this, principally on Lucy Gourlay’s account, and with a view to her future happiness, which he did not think had any great chance of being promoted by a matrimonial alliance with his son.

Not many minutes after the interview between Lucy and her father, a liveried servant arrived, bearing a letter in reply to one from Sir Thomas, to the following effect: 

“My Dear Gourlay,—­I have got much stronger within the last fortnight; that is, so far as my mere bodily health is concerned.  As I shall proceed to London in a day or two, it is perhaps better that I should see you upon the subject of this union, between your daughter and my son, especially as you seem to wish it so anxiously.  To tell you the truth, I fear very much that you are, contrary to remonstrance, and with your eyes open to the consequences, precipitating your charming and admirable Lucy upon wretchedness and disconsolation for the remainder of her life; and I can tell her, and would if I were allowed, that the coronet of a countess, however highly either she or you may appreciate it, will be found but a poor substitute for the want of that affection and esteem, upon which only can be founded domestic happiness and contentment.

“Ever, my dear Gourlay, faithfully yours,

“Cullamore.”

The baronet’s face, after having perused this epistle, brightened up as much as any face of such sombre and repulsive expression could be supposed to do; but, again, upon taking into consideration what he looked upon as the unjustifiable obstinacy of his daughter, it became once more stern and overshadowed.  He ground his teeth with vexation as he paced to and fro the room, as was his custom when in a state of agitation or anger.  After some minutes, during which his passion seemed only to increase, he went to her apartment, and, thrusting in his head to ascertain that she was safe, he deliberately locked the door, and, putting the key in his pocket, once more ordered his horse, and proceeded to Glenshee Castle, the princely residence of his friend, Lord Cullamore.