, there's no such vast
distinction there between the jockeys and the gentlemen. Sometimes the
jockey swindles himself up into a gentleman, and sometimes the gentleman
swindles himself down to a jockey. So far there would be no great
mistake; the only thing to be dreaded is, discovery, so far as it
affects the history which I gave of myself to Dunroe and his father.
Then there is the sale of some races against me on that most elastic
sod; and I fear they are not yet forgotten. Yes, I shall avoid the
Curragh; but you know, a fit of illness will easily manage that.
However, pass that by; I wish I knew what the old peer and the young one
are discussing."

"What now," said Norton to himself, after Morty had gone, "can this
M'Bride be scheming about in the family? There's a secret here, I'm
certain. Something troubles the old peer of late, whatever it is. Well,
let me see; I'll throw myself in the way of this same M'Bride, and it
will go hard with me or I'll worm it out of him. The knowledge of it
may serve me. It's a good thing to know family secrets, especially for
a hanger-on like myself. One good effect it may produce, and that
is, throw worthy Lord Dunroe more into my power. Yes, I will see this
M'Bride, and then let me alone for playing my card to some purpose."

Dunroe found his father much as Morty had described him--enjoying the
fresh breeze and blessed light of heaven, as both came in upon him
through the open window at which he sat.

The appearance of the good old man was much changed for the worse. His
face was paler and more emaciated than when we last described it. His
chin almost rested on his breast, and his aged-looking hands were worn
away to skin and bone. Still there was the same dignity about him as
ever, only that the traces of age and illness gave to it something that
was still more venerable and impressive. Like some portrait, by an old
master, time, whilst it mellowed and softened the colors, added that
depth and truthfulness of character by which the value I is at once
known. He was sitting in an arm-chair, with a pillow for his head to
rest upon when he wished it; and on his son's entrance he asked him to
wheel it round nearer the centre of the room, and let down the window.

"I hope you are better this morning, my lord?" inquired Dunroe.

"John," said he in reply, "I cannot say that I am better, but I can that
I am worse."

"I am sorry to hear that, my lord," replied the other, "the season is