said he, fixing his eyes on Count O'Halloran, and laying his cold
hand on him, "do you know where he was buried, I ask you, sir? do you
remember how he died?"

"Too well! too well!" cried the count, so much affected as to be
scarcely able to pronounce the words; "he died in my arms: I buried
him myself!"

"Impossible!" cried Mr. Reynolds. "Why do you say so, sir?" said he,
studying the count's face with a sort of bewildered earnestness.
"Impossible! His body was sent over to me in a lead coffin; and I saw
it--and I was asked--and I answered, 'In the family vault.' But the
shock is over," said he: "and, gentlemen, if the business of your
visit relates to that subject, I trust I am now sufficiently composed
to attend to you. Indeed, I ought to be prepared; for I had reason,
for years, to expect the stroke; and yet, when it came, it seemed
sudden!--it stunned me--put an end to all my worldly prospects--left
me childless, without a single descendant, or relation near enough to
be dear to me! I am an insulated being!"

"No, sir, you are not an insulated being," said Lord Colambre: "You
have a near relation, who will, who must, be dear to you; who will
make you amends for all you have lost, all you have suffered--who will
bring peace and joy to your heart: you have a grand-daughter."

"No, sir; I have no grand-daughter," said old Reynolds, his face and
whole form becoming rigid with the expression of obstinacy. "Rather
have no descendant than be forced to acknowledge an illegitimate
child."