eatures and white eye-balls, glided stealthily and
crouching into the chamber, and halted at the table, and seemed to read
the endorsements of the notices that lay there.

CHAPTER LXXV.

HOW A GENTLEMAN PAID A VISIT AT THE BRASS CASTLE, AND THERE READ A
PARAGRAPH IN AN OLD NEWSPAPER.

Dangerfield was, after his wont, seated at his desk, writing letters,
after his early breakfast, with his neatly-labelled accounts at his
elbow. There was a pleasant frosty sun glittering through the twigs of
the leafless shrubs, and flashing on the ripples and undulations of the
Liffey, and the redbreasts and sparrows were picking up the crumbs which
the housekeeper had thrown for them outside. He had just sealed the last
of half-a-dozen letters, when the maid opened his parlour-door, and told
him that a gentleman was at the hall-step, who wished to see him.

Dangerfield looked up with a quick glance--

'Eh?--to be sure. Show him in.'

And in a few seconds more, Mr. Mervyn, his countenance more than usually
pale and sad, entered the room. He bowed low and gravely, as the servant
announced him.

Dangerfield rose with a prompt smile, bowing also, and advanced with his
hand extended, which, as a matter of form rather than of cordiality, his
visitor took, coldly enough, in his.

'Happy to see you here, Mr. Mervyn--pray, take a chair--a charming
morning for a turn by the river, Sir.'

'I have taken the liberty of visiting you, Mr. Dangerfield--'

'Your visit, Sir, I esteem an honour,' interposed the lord of the Brass
Castle.

A slight and ceremonious bow from Mervyn, who continued--'For the
purpose of asking you directly and plainly for some light upon a matter
in which it is in the highest degree important I should be informed.'

'You may command me, Mr. Mervyn,' said Dangerfield, crossing his legs,
throwing himself back, and adjusting himself to attention.

Mervyn fixed his dark eyes full and sternly upon that white and
enigmatical face, with its round glass eyes and silver setting, and
those delicate lines of scorn he had never observed before, traced about
the mouth and nostril.

'Then, Sir, I venture to ask you for all you can disclose or relate
about one Charles Archer.'

Dangerfield cocked his head on one side, quizzically, and smiled the
faintest imaginable cynical smile.

'I can't _disclose_ anything, for the gentleman never told me his
secrets; but all I can relate is heartily at your service.'

'Can you