cuse you may, and
let me hear from you when you can fix a time to join me and your mother
here.

'Your sincere well-wisher and father,

'RICHARD O'MARA.'

In this letter was inclosed a smaller one, directed to Dwyer, and
containing a cheque for twelve pounds, with the following words:

'Make use of the enclosed, and let me hear if Richard is upon any wild
scheme at present: I am uneasy about him, and not without reason; report
to me speedily the result of your vigilance.

'R. O'MARA.'

Dwyer just glanced through this brief, but not unwelcome, epistle; and
deposited it and its contents in the secret recesses of his breeches
pocket, and then fixed his eyes upon the face of his companion, who sat
opposite, utterly absorbed in the perusal of his father's letter, which
he read again and again, pausing and muttering between whiles, and
apparently lost in no very pleasing reflections. At length he very
abruptly exclaimed:

'A delicate epistle, truly--and a politic--would that my tongue had been
burned through before I assented to that doubly-cursed contract. Why, I
am not pledged yet--I am not; there is neither writing, nor troth, nor
word of honour, passed between us. My father has no right to pledge me,
even though I told him I liked the girl, and would wish the match. 'Tis
not enough that my father offers her my heart and hand; he has no right
to do it; a delicate woman would not accept professions made by proxy.
Lady Emily! Lady Emily! with all the tawdry frippery, and finery of
dress and demeanour--compare HER with---- Pshaw! Ridiculous! How blind,
how idiotic I have been.'

He relapsed into moody reflections, which Dwyer did not care to disturb,
and some ten minutes might have passed before he spoke again. When he
did, it was in the calm tone of one who has irrevocably resolved upon
some decided and important act.

'Dwyer,' he said, rising and approaching that person, 'whatever god or
demon told you, even before my own heart knew it, that I loved Ellen
Heathcote, spoke truth. I love her madly--I never dreamed till now
how fervently, how irrevocably, I am hers--how dead to me all other
interests are. Dwyer, I know something of your disposition, and you no
doubt think it strange that I should tell to you, of all persons, SUCH
a secret; but whatever be your faults, I think you are attached to our
family. I am satisfied you will not betray me. I know----'

'Pardon me,' said Dwyer, 'if I say that great prof