out success, until, as good fortune would have it, I
stopped at the odious Yankee tavern yonder this evening, and overheard a
fellow in the bar mention your name. You may imagine I seized him, and
ascertained particulars--harnessed the sleigh again, and started off up
here, to ask you for a night's lodging, which means a rug before the
fire.'

His servant had been unloading the sleigh of knapsacks, and rifles, and
other hunting gear. Captain Argent gave him a few directions, and
presently the silver-sounding bells tinkled swiftly away along the
concession road, and back to the 'Corner' again.

[Illustration: STILL-HUNTING.]

'Och sure,' quoth Andy to himself, as he witnessed from among his
shingles the reunion of the old acquaintances, 'what a house for him to
come into--not as big as the butler's bedroom at Scutcheon Castle--an'
nothin' but pork an' bear's mate to give the likes of a gran' gintleman
like him: I wish he'd sted at home, so I do. Oh, Misther Robert asthore,
if I ever thought to see the family so reduced; an' sure I was hopin'
nobody would know it but ourselves--leastways, none of the quality at
home.'

Andy's soliloquy was interrupted by a summons from his master to prepare
supper; but the under-current of his thoughts went on as he set about
his cooking.

'An' to have to be fryin' mate ondher his very nose, an' the kitchen in
the castle is a good quarther of a mile from the dinin' parlour, anyhow;
an' all our chaney is made of wood, barrin' the couple of plates; an'
our glasses is nothin' but cows' horns. An' sorra a bit of a table-cloth,
unless I spread one of the sheets. An' to sit on shtools for want of
chairs. An' to sleep on the flure like meself. Arrah, what brought him
here at all?'

The subject of these reflections had meanwhile lighted his silver-mounted
meerschaum, and was puffing contentedly in the intervals of animated
chat, apparently quite satisfied with his position and prospective
hardships, not giving a thought to the humble accommodations of his
friends' shanty; which, on the first entrance, had contracted in
Robert's vision into a mere wood-cutter's hut, devoid of every elegance
and most of the comforts of civilised life. He imagined that thus it
would be seen through Argent's eyes. But if it was so, Argent neither by
look nor manner gave token of the least thought of the sort.

He was the youngest son of a poor peer, Lord Scutcheon, living in the
neighbourhood of Dunore; an