“Don’t begin now, then,” said Cornelius: “I’ve enough to put me out of humour already--so answer straight, like yourself. What’s this you’ve done to get the ill-will of White Connal, that’s just gone?” Surprised and embarrassed, Ormond answered, “I trust I have not his ill-will, sir.” “You have, sir,” said O’Shane. “Is it possible?” cried Harry, “when we shook hands; you must have misunderstood, or have been misinformed. How do you know, my dear sir?” “I know it from the man’s own lips, see! I can give you a straight answer at once. Now answer me, was there any quarrel between you? and what cause of offence did you give?” “Excuse me, sir--those are questions which I cannot answer.” “Your blush, young man, answers me enough, and too much. Mark me, I thought I could answer for your honour with my own, and I did so.” “Thank you, sir, and you shall never have reason--” “Don’t interrupt me, young man. What reason can I have to judge of the future, but from the past? I am not an idiot to be bothered with fair words.” “Oh! sir, can you suspect?” “I suspect nothing, Harry Ormond: I am, I thank my God, above suspicion. Listen to me. You know--whether I ever told it you before or not, I can’t remember--but whether or not, you _know_ as well as if you were withinside of me--that in my heart’s core there’s not a man alive I should have preferred for my son-in-law to the man I once thought Harry Ormond, without a penny--” “Once thought!” “Interrupt me again, and I’ll lave you, sir. In confidence between ourselves, thinking as once I did, that I might depend on your friendship and discretion, equally with your honour, I confessed, I repented a rash promise, and let you see my regret deep enough that my son-in-law will never be what Dora deserves--I said, or let you see as much, no matter which; I am no equivocator, nor do I now unsay or retract a word. You have my secret; but remember when first I had the folly to tell it you, same time I warned you--I warned you, Harry, like the moth from the candle--I warned you in vain. In another tone I warn you now, young man, for the last time--I tell you my promise to me is sacred--she is as good as married to White Connal--fairly tied up neck and heels--and so am I, to all intents and purposes; and if I thought it were possible you could consider her, or make her by any means consider herself, in any other light, I will tell you what I would do--I would shoot myself; for one of us must fall, and I wouldn’t choose it should be you, Harry. That’s all.” “Oh! hear me, sir,” cried Harry, seizing his arm as he turned away, “kill me if you will, but hear me--I give you my word you are from beginning to end mistaken. I cannot tell you the whole--but this much believe, Dora was not the cause of quarrel.” “Then there was a quarrel. Oh, for shame! for shame!--you are not used to falsehood enough yet--you can’t carry it through--why did you attempt it with _me_?”