s acquaintance with all the forms of
society, he touched shortly upon my former acquaintance with his
daughter, and acknowledged in terms slight, but suitable, how she had
spoken of me. His manner was, however, less marked by everything I had
deemed to be Irish than that of any other person I had met with in the
country; for while he expressed his pleasure at my visit to the west,
and invited me to pass some days at his house, his manner of doing so
had nothing whatever of the warmth and _empressement_ I had so often
seen. In fact, save a slight difference in accent, it was as English as
need be.

Whether I felt disappointed at this, or whether I had myself adopted the
habite and prejudices of the land, I am unable to say, but certainly
I felt chilled and repulsed; and although our interview scarce lasted
twenty minutes, I was delighted when he rose to take his leave, and say,
good-morning.

'You are good enough, then, to promise you 'll dine with us to-morrow,
Mr. Hinton. I need scarcely remark that I can have no party to meet you,
for this wild neighbourhood has denied us that; but as I am aware that
your visit to the west is less for society than scenery, perhaps I may
assure you you will not be disappointed. So now, _au revoir_.' Sir Simon
bowed deeply as he spoke, and, with a wave of his hat that would have
done honour to the court of Louis xv., he took his leave and departed.

I followed him with my eye, as mounted on his old gray pony, he ambled
quietly down the little path that led to the shore. Albeit an old man,
his seat was firm, and not without a certain air of self-possession and
ease; and as he returned the salutations of the passing country-people,
he did so with the quiet dignity of one who felt he conveyed an honour
even in the recognition. There was something singular in the contrast
of that venerable figure with the wild grandeur of the scene; and as I
gazed after him, it set me thinking on the strange vicissitudes of life
that must have made such as he pass his days in the dreary solitude of
these mountains.

CHAPTER XXXVII. SIR SIMON

My journey had so far fatigued me that I wasn't sorry to have a day of
rest; and as Father Tom spent the greater part of it from home, I was
left to myself and my own reflections. The situation in which I found
myself was singular enough--the guest of a man whose acquaintance I had
made by chance, and who, knowing as little of me as I did of him,
yet showed