ell me that my
conveniency, with the pony, harness and all--"

"Have patience, Roach," interposed the old man; "Mark was but jesting.
Come over and join us here." At the same instant the door was flung
suddenly wide, and Sir Archy rushed in, with a speed very unlike his
ordinary gait. "There's a change for the better," cried he, joyfully;
"the boy has made a rally, and if we could overtake that d----d auld
beestie, Roach, and bring him back again, we might save the lad."

"The d----d auld beestie," exclaimed Roach, as he sprung from the sofa
and stood before him, "is very much honoured by your flattering mention
of him." Then turning towards the O'Donoghue, he added--"Take your turn
out of me now, when you have me; for, by the Father of Physic, you'll
never see Denis Roach under this roof again."

The O'Donoghue laughed till his face streamed with the emotion, and
he rocked in his chair like one in a convulsion. "Look, Archy," cried
he--"see now!--hear me, Roach," were the only words he could utter
between the paroxysms, while M'Nab, the very picture of shame and
confusion, stood overwhelmed with his blunder, and unable to say a word.

"Let us not stand fooling here," said Mark, gruffly, as he took the
Doctor's arm; "come and see my brother, and try what can be done for
him."

With an under-growl of menace and rage, old Roach suffered himself to be
led away by the young man, Sir Archy following slowly, as they mounted
the stairs.

Although alone, the O'Donoghue continued to laugh over the scene he had
just witnessed; nor did he know which to enjoy more--the stifled rage of
the Doctor, or the mingled shame and distress of M'Nab. It was, indeed,
a rare thing to obtain such an occasion for triumph over Sir Archy,
whose studied observance of all the courtesies and proprieties of
life, formed so strong a contrast with his own careless and indifferent
habits.

"Archy will never get over it--that's certain, and begad he shan't do
so for want of a reminder. The d----d auld beestie!" and with the words
came back his laughter, which had not ceased as Mark re-entered the
room. "Well, lad," he cried, "have they made it up--what has Sir Archy
done with him?"

"Herbert's better," said the youth, in a low deep voice, and with a look
that sternly rebuked the heartless forgetfulness of his father.

"Ah! better, is he? Well, that is good news, Mark; and Roach thinks he
may recover?"

"He has a chance now; a few hours will de