'Oh! Charlie, I have you fast, my darling. Oh! but it's wonderful; you,
yourself--my Charlie, your own self--never, never, oh! _never_ to part
again!' and so on.

And so for a rapturous hour, it seemed as if they had passed the dark
valley, and were immortal; and no more pain, sorrow, or separation for
them. And, perhaps, these blessed illusions are permitted now and again
to mortals, like momentary gleams of paradise, and distant views of the
delectable mountains, to cheer poor pilgrims with a foretaste of those
meetings beyond the river, where the separated and beloved shall
embrace.

It is not always that the person most interested in a rumour is first to
hear it. It was reported in Chapelizod, early that day, that Irons, the
clerk, had made some marvellous discovery respecting Lord Dunoran, and
the murder of which an English jury had found that nobleman guilty. Had
people known that Mervyn was the son of that dishonoured peer--as in
that curious little town they would, no doubt, long since have, at
least, suspected, had he called himself by his proper patronymic
Mordaunt--he would not have wanted a visitor to enlighten him
half-an-hour after the rumour had began to proclaim itself in the
streets and public haunts of the village. No one, however, thought of
the haughty and secluded young gentleman who lived so ascetic a life at
the Tiled House, and hardly ever showed in the town, except in church on
Sundays; and who when he rode on his black hunter into Dublin, avoided
the village, and took the high-road by Inchicore.

When the report did reach him, and he heard that Lowe, who knew all
about it, was at the Phoenix, where he was holding a conference with a
gentleman from the Crown Office, half wild with excitement, he hurried
thither. There, having declared himself to the magistrate and his
companion, in that little chamber where Nutter was wont to transact his
agency business, and where poor Sturk had told down his rent, guinea by
guinea, with such a furious elation, on the morning but one before he
received his death-blow, he heard, with such feelings as may be
imagined, the magistrate read aloud, not only the full and clear
information of Irons, but the equally distinct deposition of Doctor
Sturk, and was made aware of the complete identification of the
respectable and vivacious Paul Dangerfield with the dead and damned
Charles Archer!

On hearing all this, the young man rode straight to Belmont, where he
was