," replied the other, "unless it be to prepare you
for--"

"For what?"

"Why, it is said that the fair lady with whom you are about to commit
the crime of matrimony is virtuous and religious, as well as beautiful
and so forth; and, in that case, perhaps he is about to prepare you for
the expected conference. I cannot guess anything else, unless,
perhaps, it may be the avarice of age about to rebuke the profusion and
generosity of youth. In that case, my lord, keep your temper, and don't
compromise your friends."

"Never fear, Tom; I have already fought more battles on your account
than you could dream of. Perhaps, after all, it is nothing. Of late
he has sent for me occasionally, as if to speak upon some matter of
importance, when, after chatting upon the news of the day or lecturing
me for supporting an impostor--meaning you--he has said he would defer
the subject on which he wished to speak, until another opportunity.
Whatever it is, he seems afraid of it, or perhaps the respectable old
peer is doting."

"I dare say, my lord, it is very natural he should at these years; but
if he," proceeded Norton, laughing, "is doting now, what will you be at
his years? Here, however, is his confidential man, Morty O'Flaherty."

O'Flaherty now entered, and after making a bow that still smacked
strongly of Tipperary, delivered his message.

"My masther, Lord Cullamore, wishes to see you, my lord. He has come
down stairs, and is facing the sun, the Lord be praised, in the back
drawin'-room."

"Go, my lord," said Norton; "perhaps he wishes you to make a third
luminary. Go and help him to face the sun."

"Be my sowl, Mr. Norton, if I'm not much mistaken, it's the father he'll
have to face. I may as well give you the hard word, my lord--troth, I
think you had better be on your edge; he's as dark as midnight, although
the sun is in his face."

His lordship went out, after having given two or three yawns, stretched
himself, and shrugged his shoulders, like a man who was about to enter
upon some unpleasant business with manifest reluctance.

"Ah," exclaimed Morty, looking after him, "there goes a cute boy--at
last, God forgive him, he's of that opinion himself. What a pity
there's not more o' the family; they'd ornament the counthry."

"Say, rather, Morty, that there's one too many."

"Faith, and I'm sure, Barney, you oughtn't to think so. Beg pardon--Mr.
Norton."

"Morty, curse you, will you be cautious? But why should I n