You are a magistrate, and your presence here may be necessary."
"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, surprised at such language: "this may be
serious. Proceed, my friend: what disclosures have you to make?"
Old Corbet did not answer him, but turning round to the baronet, who
was not then in a capacity to hear or observe anything apart from the
terrible convulsions of agony he was suffering, he looked upon him, his
keen old eyes in a blaze, his lips open and their expression sharpened
by the derisive and satanic triumph that was legible in the demon sneer
which kept them apart.
"Thomas Gourlay!" he exclaimed in a sharp, piercing voice of authority
and conscious power, "Thomas Gourlay, rise up and stand forward, your
day of doom is come."
"Who is it that has the insolence to call my father Thomas Gourlay under
this roof?" asked his son Thomas, alias Mr. Ambrose Gray. "Begone, old
man, you are mad."
"Bastard and impostor!" readied Anthony, "you appear before your time.
Thomas Gourlay, did you hear me?"
By an effort--almost a superhuman effort--the baronet succeeded in
turning his attention to what was going forward.
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