Chafed, maddened, yet not daring to
execute the vengeance he desired, he strode through the apartment with
an uneasy and perturbed gait. He paused at times, darting a look at the
minister as if about to address him. Suddenly he stood still, nerving
his spirit to some awful question.
"My cousin John Harrington died in his own chamber. In this house, God
wot. Thou didst shrive him at his last shift, and how sayest thou he was
poisoned?"
"I said not aught so plainly; but thou hast spoken out. Behold
him!--There!"--The divine pointed his finger slowly round the apartment.
"Within a short space he cites thee to that bar where his presence will
be a swift witness to thy doom!"
Had the spirit of the unfortunate heir of Hornby suddenly appeared, the
Baron could not have followed the movement of the minister's hand with
greater dismay and astonishment. The strong barrier of guilt seemed
breaking down. Conscience aroused, as if at once the veil that concealed
his iniquities had been withdrawn, they rose in all their unmitigated
horror and enormity. An arrow, drawn at a venture, had pierced the
joints of the harness.
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