There sat Mike, the serving-man, in his red hair, uneven eyebrows,
crutch, and wooden leg, as quietly arranging the models of vessels and
steamers as if he had not anticipated a midnight call nor ceased his
labor since Duff Salter had gone out.
"Damnation!" exclaimed Calvin Van de Lear, pale with exertion and rage,
"are you here? I thought you were at Treaty Island."
"Misther Salter," said the Irishman, "I returned, do you see, because I
forgot something and wanthed a drop of your brandy, sur."
Duff Salter walked up to the speaker and seized him by the lapels of his
coat, and placing the other hand upon his head, tore off the entire
red-haired scalp which covered him.
"Andrew Zane," said Duff Salter in a low voice, "your disguise is
detected. Yield yourself like a man to your father's executor. You are
my prisoner!"
CHAPTER IX.
IN COURT.
Agnes Wilt awoke and said her prayers, unconscious of any event of the
night. At the breakfast-table she met Duff Salter, who took both her
hands in his.
"Agnes," said Duff Salter--"let me call you so hereafter--did you hear
the bell toll last night?"
"No," she replied with agitation. "For what, Mr. Salter?"
"The good priest of Kensington is dying."
"Beloved friend!" she said, as the tears came to her eyes.
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