“There's nothing wrong, Sir Thomas, and a've good news.” The baronet's eye and brow lost some of their gloom; he arose and commenced, as was his custom, to walk across the room. “Pray what is this good news, Mr. Crackenfudge? Will you be kind enough, without any unnecessary circumlocution, to favor your friends with it?” “With pleasure, Sir Thomas, because a' know you are anxious to hear it, and it deeply concerns you.” Sir Thomas paused, turned round, looked at him for a moment with an impatient scowl; but in the meaningless and simpering face before him he could read nothing but what appeared to him to be an impudent chuckle of satisfaction; and this, indeed, was no more than what Crackenfudge felt, who had altogether forgotten the nature of the communication he was about to make, dreadful and disastrous as it was, and thought only of the claim upon Sir Thomas's influence which he was about to establish with reference to the magistracy. It was the reflection, then, of this train of little ambition which Sir Thomas read in his countenance, and mistook for some communication that might relieve him, and set his mind probably at ease. The scowl we allude to accordingly disappeared, and Sir Thomas, after the glance we have recorded, said, checking himself into a milder and more encouraging tone: “Go on, Mr. Crackenfudge, let us hear it at once.” “Well, then, Sir Thomas, a' told you a'd keep my eye on that chap.” “On whom? name him, sir.” “A' can't, Sir Thomas; the fellow in the inn.” “Oh! what about him?” “Why he has taken her off.” “Taken whom off?” shouted the baronet, in a voice of thunder. “You contemptible scoundrel, whom has he taken off?” “Your daughter, Sir Thomas--Miss Gourlay. They went together in the 'Fly' on Tuesday night last to Dublin; a' followed in the 'Flash of Lightning,' and seen them in conversation. Dandy Dulcimer, who is your friend--For God's sake, Sir Thomas, be quiet. You'll shake me--a-a-ach--Sir--Thom-a-as--w-wi-will you not take my--my --li-life----” “You lie like a villain, you most contemptible reptile,” shouted the other. “My daughter, sirrah, never eloped with an adventurer. She never eloped at all, sir. She durst not elope. She knows what my vengeance would be, sirrah. She knows, you lying whelp of perdition, that I would pursue herself and her paramour to the uttermost ends of the earth; that I would shoot them both dead--that I would trample upon and spurn their worthless carcasses, and make an example of them to all time, and through all eternity. And you--you prying, intermeddling scoundrel--how durst you--you petty, beggarly tyrant--hated and despised by poor and rich--was it to mock me--” “Sir Thom-a-as, a'm--a'm--I--I--aach--ur-ur-ur-mur-murd-murd-er-er-err-errr.”