that nothing you could say on that subject could hurt me
personally, because I feel that I am not, that I never can be, an enemy
to Ireland. An absentee, voluntarily, I never yet have been; and as to
the future, I declare--'

'I declare you know nothing of the future,' interrupted Lady Dashfort,
in a half-peremptory, half-playful tone--'you know nothing; make no rash
vows, and you will break none.'

The undaunted assurance of Lady Dashfort's genius for intrigue gave
her an air of frank imprudence, which prevented Lord Colambre from
suspecting that more was meant than met the ear. The count and he took
leave of one another with mutual regard; and Lady Dashfort rejoiced to
have got our hero out of Halloran Castle.

CHAPTER IX

Lord Colambre had waited with great impatience for an answer to the
letter of inquiry which he had written about Miss Nugent's mother.
A letter from Lady Clonbrony arrived; he opened it with the greatest
eagerness--passed over 'Rheumatism warm weather--warm bath--Buxton
balls--Miss Broadhurst--your FRIEND, Sir Arthur Berryl, very assiduous!'
The name of Grace Nugent he found at last, and read as follows:

Her mother's maiden name was ST. OMAR; and there was a FAUX PAS,
certainly. She was, I am told (for it was before my time), educated at a
convent abroad; and there was an affair with a Captain Reynolds, a
young officer, which her friends were obliged to hush up. She brought an
infant to England with her, and took the name of Reynolds--but none of
that family would acknowledge her; and she lived in great obscurity,
till your uncle Nugent saw, fell in love with her, and (knowing her
whole history) married her. He adopted the child, gave her his name,
and, after some years, the whole story was forgotten. Nothing could
be more disadvantageous to Grace than to have it revived: this is the
reason we kept it secret.

Lord Colambre tore the letter to bits.

From the perturbation which Lady Dashfort saw in his countenance, she
guessed the nature of the letter which he had been reading, and for the
arrival of which he had been so impatient.

'It has worked!' said she to herself. 'POUR LE COUP PHILIPPE JE TE
TIENS!'

Lord Colambre appeared this day more sensible, than he had ever yet
seemed, to the charms of the fair Isabel.

'Many a tennis-ball, and many a heart is caught at the rebound,' said
Lady Dashfort. 'Isabel! now is your time!'

And so it was--or so, perhaps, it would have been, bu