e?"

"No walls are impervious to bad news," he replied, "but Ginty's concern
was less for his mother than for his sweetheart, Sarah Ann. At bottom
I believe Ginty is penitent, and would like to break with the rogues
who have led him on; but the poor beggar is weak-willed, and the easy
prey of his blustering companions. I managed to get an interview with
him, and he wished me to ask you to tell the girl everything, and to
beg her to pity and forgive him; and he promises to turn over a new
leaf, and will marry her eventually if she is willing."

"Sarah Ann must not be told at present," I replied; "she is far from
well, and the shock might be too much for her. She is a highly
emotional girl, who would go into violent hysterics incontinently."

"Well," he said, "I can leave the matter to your discretion. I have
fulfilled my promise, and I am sure you will do what is best. Would it
be possible to tell the girl's mother?--if she has a mother."

"She has a mother," I answered, "but she is a woman entirely destitute
of tact. To tell her would be to publish the news to the whole
village, and to have it conveyed to Sarah Ann in the crudest manner
conceivable. I think it will be best to hold back the message until I
have a fitting opportunity of delivering it to the girl herself. But
believe me, the present time is most inopportune."

"I do believe you," he said, "and I suppose it is hardly likely that
information will reach the village in any other way. 'Ill news flies
fast,' but the case was too insignificant to be reported in the
provincial papers. Anyhow, we must take the risk, and you can deliver
your soul of the message when you think fit. I am sorry to have laid
this burden upon you."

"I accept it willingly," I said, "and am glad that I can be of service
to these poor young folk."

I had a pleasant evening with the squire and the Cynic, both of whom
were at their best in discussing disendowments, in regard to which they
held opposite views. The squire showed the possession of a wealth of
knowledge which aroused my admiration, and he was so courteous in
argument, so magnanimous and altogether gentlemanly, that I could have
hugged him for very pride; but I am bound to say that I think the Cynic
had the best of it. He is just as generous and courtly as the squire,
and he is absolutely sure of his facts and figures; but when he does
corner his opponent he does not gloat over him. In my judgment--and I
a