a pilgrim into his castle, and was secretly flattered by
his familiarity, and cheered by his devilish gaiety, and was quite
willing to make rules bend a little, and the place as pleasant as
possible to his distinguished guest, and give him in fact, all his heart
could desire, except a chance of escape.

'I've one move left--nothing very excellent--but sometimes, you know, a
scurvy card enough will win the trick. Between you and me, my good
friend, I have a thing to tell that 'twill oblige my Lord Dunoran very
much to hear. My Lord Townshend will want his vote. He means to prove
his peerage immediately and he may give a poor devil a lift, you
see--hey?

So next day there came my Lord Dunoran and a magistrate, not Mr.
Lowe--Mr. Dangerfield professed a contempt for him, and preferred any
other. So it was Mr. Armstrong this time, and that is all I know of him.

Lord Dunoran was more pale than usual; indeed he felt like to faint on
coming into the presence of the man who had made his life so
indescribably miserable, and throughout the interview he scarcely spoke
six sentences, and not one word of reproach. The villain was down. It
was enough.

Mr. Dangerfield was, perhaps, a little excited. He talked more volubly
than usual, and once or twice there came a little flush over his pallid
forehead and temples. But, on the whole, he was very much the same
brisk, sardonic talker and polite gentleman whom Mr. Mervyn had so often
discoursed with in Chapelizod. On this occasion, his narrative ran on
uninterruptedly and easily, but full of horrors, like a satanic reverie.

'Upon my honour, Sir,' said Paul Dangerfield, with his head erect, 'I
bear Mr. Lowe no ill-will. He is, you'll excuse me, a thief-catcher by
nature. He can't help it. He thinks he works from duty, public spirit,
and other fine influences; I know it is simply from an irrepressible
instinct. I do assure you, I never yet bore any man the least ill-will.
I've had to remove two or three, not because I hated them--I did not
care a button for any--but because their existence was incompatible with
my safety, which, Sir, is the first thing to me, as yours is to you.
Human laws we respect--ha, ha!--you and I, because they subserve our
convenience, and just so long. When they tend to our destruction, 'tis,
of course, another thing.'

This, it must be allowed, was frank enough; there was no bargain here;
and what ever Mr. Dangerfield's plan might have been, it certainly d