business and calculation than as
involving anything of mutual inclination on the part of the parties most
nearly interested in the matter.

He anxiously, therefore, watched for an opportunity of making known
his feelings to Lord ----, as he could not with propriety do so to
Lady Emily; but what at a distance appeared to be a matter of easy
accomplishment, now, upon a nearer approach, and when the immediate
impulse which had prompted the act had subsided, appeared so full of
difficulty and almost inextricable embarrassments, that he involuntarily
shrunk from the task day after day.

Though it was a source of indescribable anxiety to him, he did not
venture to write to Ellen, for he could not disguise from himself the
danger which the secrecy of his connection with her must incur by
his communicating with her, even through a public office, where
their letters might be permitted to lie longer than the gossiping
inquisitiveness of a country town would warrant him in supposing safe.

It was about a fortnight after young O'Mara had arrived in Dublin, where
all things, and places, and amusements; and persons seemed thoroughly
stale, flat, and unprofitable, when one day, tempted by the unusual
fineness of the weather, Lady Emily proposed a walk in the College Park,
a favourite promenade at that time. She therefore with young O'Mara,
accompanied by Dwyer (who, by-the-by, when he pleased, could act the
gentleman sufficiently well), proceeded to the place proposed, where
they continued to walk for some time.

'Why, Richard,' said Lady Emily, after a tedious and unbroken pause
of some minutes, 'you are becoming worse and worse every day. You are
growing absolutely intolerable; perfectly stupid! not one good thing
have I heard since I left the house.'

O'Mara smiled, and was seeking for a suitable reply, when his design was
interrupted, and his attention suddenly and painfully arrested, by the
appearance of two figures, who were slowly passing the broad walk on
which he and his party moved; the one was that of Captain N----, the
other was the form of--Martin Heathcote!

O'Mara felt confounded, almost stunned; the anticipation of some
impending mischief--of an immediate and violent collision with a young
man whom he had ever regarded as his friend, were apprehensions which
such a juxtaposition could not fail to produce.

'Is Heathcote mad?' thought he. 'What devil can have brought him here?'

Dwyer having exchanged a signif