When O'Halloran had finished reading this letter,
silence for a few minutes ensued. The ladies
were struck dumb with amazement. At length he
approached Ellen. “My child,” said he, “I rejoice
that your father still lives. He was a worthy
man, notwithstanding his unhappy duel. His
interference on this occasion is, perhaps, fortunate.
At all events it relieves me from any responsibility
as to the result. I shall inform Sir
Geoffrey, that I no longer possess the requisite authority
to constrain your acceptance of him. I see
you are all gratified. I confess that I am not much
displeased myself, at the turn this affair has taken.
He then withdrew.
The reader need not be detained with an account
of the felicitations which Ellen received
from her female confidents on this occasion. Any
sensible good hearted aunt can easily imagine how
Mrs. Brown expressed herself, and any lively good
natured young maiden, may do the same with respect
to Miss Agnew. It may be recorded, however,
that this young lady observed, that she never
saw O'Halloran smile so bewitchingly as when he
left the room.
“Where he only thirty or forty years younger,”
said she, “I should certainly fall in love with him
for that sweet smile. As it is, however, I shall
certainly have the kiss that I threatened to steal
from him, the first time I should find him asleep
in his elbow chair.”
Immediately on leaving the ladies, O'Halloran
despatched a messenger to Sir Geoffrey, requesting
his attendance at the castle as early as convenient
the next morning. On his arrival he acquainted
him with what had taken place.
“I thought it right,” he observed, “to lose no
time in giving you this information, that you might
be occasioned no disappointment in your arrangement
for the solemnity, that I could prevent.”
With eyes flashing fire, Sir Geoffrey started to
his feet. “Then you withdraw all controul over
your granddaughter in this case?” he demanded.
“I do”—was the laconic and firm reply.—“And
Francis Hamilton, my brother's murderer, is now
in the country,” exclaimed the rejected knight,
“and has caused this; but I shall find him, and
dreadful will be my revenge.”
O'Halloran was thunder-struck at such a manifestation
of malignity in the man he had lately so
much esteemed. He fixed his eyes steadfastly on
Carebrow, and with inexpressible dignity, calmly
said, “Is this the disinterested affection you professed
to bear for my granddaughter? You would
show your love for her by the destruction of her
father?
Sir Geoffrey resumed his seat. He remained a
few moments absorbed in reflection. He saw that
O'Halloran was not a man to be frightened; and
concluded that he would play a surer game by
pretending to submit calmly to his misfortune.
“I am wrong,” said he, “my friend. Excuse
the impetuosity of my feelings. They are agonized
by the intelligence you have given me. The
warmth of my expression was occasioned by the
madness of my disappointed love. But I submit.
My anger was but momentary. From this instant,
I shall cast the remembrance of the whole affair
from my mind. But there is one piece of information,”
said he, somewhat sarcastically, “which, in
my turn, I will lose no time in communicating, lest
you, in some of your arrangements, should also be
disappointed. I find it inconvenient to pay you the
remaining twenty thousand pounds contracted for
in the mortgage.”
“That is unfortunate,” replied O'Halloran, “for
there is now little time to raise it elsewhere.”
“The cause must then do without it,” said the
other.
“It will greatly cripple our exertions;” continued
O'Halloran; “besides the sum being secured in
the mortgage, you should in honour exert yourself
to procure it, or else allow that instrument to be
altered.”
“As to that,” said Sir Geoffrey, “the less that is
either said or written on such dangerous matters,
in these troublesome times, the better. The mortgage
cannot be altered. But do not think that I
intend to defraud you. Only, now that I think of
it, our communications this evening have been mutually
disagreeable. We had better, therefore,
end the conference. Good night; and recollect
that by withholding my bride, you have lost only
twenty thousand pounds.”
The man's real character now stared O'Halloran
full in the face. He scorned to detain him, or
reason with him. He, therefore, let him go without
interruption, rejoiced that the good fortune of
his beloved grandchild, had preserved her from
becoming the wife of such a man.
