for another; neither did Sir Thomas
make the slightest allusion to the settled disinclination to marry
him which he knew she all along felt. Indifferent, however, as Dunroe
naturally was to high-minded feeling or principle, he could not
summon courage to dwell upon this attachment of Lucy to another.
A consciousness of his utter meanness and degradation of spirit in
consenting to marry any woman under such circumstances, filled him with
shame even to glance at it. He feared, besides, that if her knavish
father had heard it, he would at once have attributed his conduct to its
proper motives--that is to say, an eagerness to get into the possession
and enjoyment of the large fortune to which she was entitled. He
himself, in his conversations with the baronet, never alluded to the
subject of dowry, but placed his anxiety for the match altogether to the
account of love. So far, then, each was acting a fraudulent part toward
the other.

The next morning, about the hour of eleven o'clock, Thomas
Corbet--foster-brother to the baronet, though a much younger man--sent
word that he wished to see him on particular business. This was quite
sufficient; for, as Corbet was known to be more deeply in his confidence
than any other man living, he was instantly admitted.

"Well, Corbet," said his master, "I hope there is nothing wrong."

"Sir Thomas," replied the other, "you have a right to be a happy and
a thankful man this morning; and although I cannot mention the joyful
intelligence with which I am commissioned, without grief and shame for
the conduct of a near relation of my own, yet I feel this to be the
happiest day of my life."

"What the deuce!" exclaimed the baronet, starting to his feet--"how is
this? What is the intelligence?"

"Rejoice, Sir Thomas--rejoice and be thankful; but, in the meantime,
pray sit down, if you please, and don't be too much agitated. I know
how evil news, or anything that goes in opposition to your will, affects
you: the two escapes, for instance, of that boy."

"Ha! I understand you now," exclaimed the baronet, whilst the very eyes
danced in his head with a savage delight that was frightful, and, for
the sake of human nature, painful to look upon, "I understand you now,
Corbet--he is dead! eh? Is it not so? Yes, yes--it is--it is true. Well,
you shall have a present of one hundred pounds for the intelligence. You
shall, and that in the course of five minutes."

"Sir Thomas," replied Corbet, calm