"They are in that pocket-book, my Lady,-seven of them for a thousand pounds each. There are two more somewhere among my papers, and it was to meet the payment that the Captain did this." Here he took from beneath his pillow a parchment document, and held it towards Lady Eleanor, who, overwhelmed with terror and dismay, could not stretch her band to take it.
"Here--my Lady--somewhere here," said he, moving his finger vaguely along the lower margin of the document--"here you'll see Maurice Darcy written--not by himself, indeed, but by his son. This deed of sale includes part of Westport, and the town-lands of Cooldrennon and Shoughnakelly. Faith, and, my Lady, I paid my hard cash down on the nail for the same land, and have no better title than what you see! The Knight has only to prove the forgery; of course he could n't do so against his own son."
"Oh, sir, spare me,--I entreat of you to spare me!" sobbed Lady Eleanor, as, convulsed with grief, she hid her face.
A knocking was heard at this moment at the door, and on its being repeated louder, Hickman querulously demanded, "Who was there?"
"A note for Lady Eleanor Darcy," was the reply; "her Ladyship's servant waits for an answer."
Lady Eleanor, without knowing wherefore, seemed to feel that the tidings required prompt attention, and with an effort to subdue her emotion, she broke the seal, and read:--
"Lady Eleanor,--Be on your guard,--there is a dark plot against you. Take counsel in time,--and if you hear the words, 'T is eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to die,' you can credit the friendship of this warning."
"Who brought this note?" said she, in a voice that became full and strong, under the emergency of danger.
"Where is he? Send him to me." And as she spoke, Tate mounted the stairs.
"A fisherman, my Lady, left it this instant, with directions to be given to you at once and without a moment's delay."
"'Tis nothing bad, I hope and trust, my Lady," whispered the old man. "The darling young lady is not ill?"
"No, sir, she is perfectly well, nor are the tidings positively bad ones. There is no answer, Tate." So saying, she once more opened the paper and read it over.
Without seeing wherefore, Lady Eleanor felt a sudden sense of hardihood take possession of her; the accusation by which, a moment previous, she had been almost stunned, seemed already lighter to her eyes, and the suspicion that the whole interview was part of some dark design dawned suddenly on her mind. Nor was this feeling permanent; a glance at the miserable old man, who, with head beut down and half-closed eyes, lay before her, dispelling the doubts even more rapidly than they were formed. Indeed, now that the momentary excitement of speaking had passed away, he looked far more wan and wasted than before; his chest, too, heaved with a fluttering, irregular action, that seemed to denote severe and painful effort, while his fingers, with a restless and fidgety motion, wandered here and there, pinching the bed-clothes, and seeming to search for some stray object.