et you can't prevent me offering it."

"Have I not told you how I prize your kindness?" said she, gently.

"Will you let me think so?" cried Conway, pressing her arm closely; and
again they were silent Who knows with what thoughts?

How dreary did the streets seem as they entered Dublin! The hazy lamps,
dulled by the fast-falling rain, threw a misty light through the loaded
atmosphere; the streets, deserted by all but the very poorest were
silent and noiseless, save for the incessant plash of the rain; few
lights were seen on any side, and all was darkness and gloom. Wearily
they plodded onward, Sybella deeply sunk in her own thoughts as to the
future, and Conway, too respectful of her feelings to interrupt her,
never uttered a word as they went. At last they reached Merrion Square,
and after some little search stood at the door of Mr. Davenport Dunn.
Sybella drew a heavy sigh as Conway knocked loudly, and muttered to
herself, "Heaven grant me good tidings of my father!"

CHAPTER XXII. AFTER A DINNER-PARTY

Mr. Davenport Dunn had a dinner-party,--he entertained the notables
of the capital; and a chief secretary, a couple of judges, a poor-law
commissioner, and some minor deities, soldier and civilian, formed his
company. They were all social, pleasant, and conversational. The country
was growing governable, calendars were light, military duty a mere
pastime, and they chatted agreeably over reminiscences of a time--not
very remote neither--when Rockites were rife, jails crammed, and
the fatigues and perils of a soldier not inferior to those of actual
warfare.

"To our worthy host here!" said the Chief Baron, eying his claret before
the light,--and it was a comet vintage,--"to our worthy host here are we
indebted for most of this happy change."

"Under Providence," whispered the oily Dean of the Chapel Royal.

"Of course, so I mean," said the judge, with that kind of impatience
he would have met a needless suggestion in court. "Great public
works, stupendous enterprises, and immense expenditure of capital have
encountered rebellion by the best of all methods,--prosperity!"

"Is it really extinct,--has Lazarus died, or is he only sleeping?"
interposed a small dark-eyed man, with a certain air of determination
and a look of defiance that seemed to invite discussion.

"I should, at all events, call it a trance that must lead to
perfect recovery," said the Chief Secretary. "Ireland is no longer a
difficulty."