and
instinctive resistance. It was to no purpose, however. The poor young
man was incapable of resistance, either by word or deed. In a short time
they reached the tool-house, where he threw Fenton on a heap of apples,
like a bag, and left him to lie in cold and darkness, as if he were
some noxious animal, whom it would be dangerous to set at large. He then
locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and went to acquaint the
baronet with the success of his mission.

The latter, on understanding from Gillespie that Fenton was not only
secured, but that his suspicions as to his identity were correct,
desired him to have the carriage ready in the course of about an hour.
He had already written a letter, containing a liberal enclosure, to the
person into whose merciless hands he was about to commit him. In the
meantime, it is impossible to describe the confused character of his
feelings--the tempest, the tornado of passions, that swept through his
dark and ambitious spirit.

"This is the third time," he thought to himself, as he paced the room in
such a state of stormy agitation as reacted upon himself, and tilled
him with temporary alarm. His heart beat powerfully, his pulsations were
strong and rapid, and his brain felt burning and tumultuous.
Occasional giddiness also seized him, accompanied by weakness about the
knee-joints, and hoarseness in the throat. In fact, once or twice he
felt as if he were about to fall. In this state he hastily gulped down
two or three large glasses of Madeira, which was his favorite wine, and
he felt his system more intensely strung.

"That woman," said he, alluding to Lady Gourlay, "has taken her revenge
by destroying my son. There can be no doubt of that. And what now
prevents me from crushing this viper forever? If my daughter were not
with me, it should be done; yes, I would do it silently and secretly,
ay, and surely, with my own hand. I would have blood for blood. What,
however, if the mur--if the act came to light! Then I must suffer;
my daughter is involved in my infamy, and all my dreams for her
aggrandizement come to worse than nothing. But I know not how it is, I
fear that girl. Her moral ascendency, as they call it, is so dreadful to
me, that I often feel as if I hated her. What right has she to subjugate
a spirit like mine, by the influence of her sense of honor and her
virtuous principles? or to school me to my face by her example? I am not
a man disposed to brook inferiorit