g precisely how Mark
might take them; but when he saw that a hearty laugh was the reception
they met with, he joined in the mirth as freely as the others.

"The best of all was the Wicklow steeple-chase; sorrow doubt about it,
that was good fun;" and Crossley laughed till his eyes streamed again
with the emotion.

"You must tell me that," said Mark.

"It was just this:--Mister Henry there had a wager with Captain Steevens
of the staff, that he'd reach the course before him, each starting at
the same moment from Quin's door at Bray. Well, what does he do, but
bribes one of the boys to let him ride postillion to Steevens' chaise,
because that way he was sure to win his wager. All went right. The
bluejacket and boots fitted him neatly--they were both new--got on
purpose for the day; and Mr. Talbot lay snug in the stable, waiting for
the chaise to be ordered round, when down comes the word, 'Number four,
two bays, you're wanted;' and up he jumps into the saddle, and trots
round to the door, afraid of his life to look round, and keeping his
chin sunk down in his cravat to hide his face. He never once looked
back, but let the boys harness the cattle without saying a word.

"'My lord says you're to drive slow,' said one of the boys.

"He looked round, and what did he see, but an old man in the chaise with
a horse-shoe wig, and in the full dress of a bishop.

"'Who is he at all?' said Talbot.

"'The Bishop of Cloyne,' whispered the boy; 'he's going up to the
Levee.'

"By my conscience, he is not," said Talbot, for at that moment he spied
Steevens starting from the door at a round trot, and with that he turned
the bishop's horses sharp round, laid the whip heavily over them, and
took the lead towards Wicklow.

[Illustration: 304]

"Never such cries were heard as the bishop's. Some say that he swore
hard; but it isn't true--he prayed, and begged, and shouted--but no use.
Talbot gave them the steel at every stride; and after a long slapping
gallop, he drew up at the stand-house, with a cheer that shook the
course; and a fine sight it was, to gee the little man in the lawn
sleeves stepping out, his face red with shame and passion.

"'Twelve miles in forty-two minutes, my lord,' said Talbot, showing his
watch; 'hope your lordship won't forget the boy.'"

If Mark O'Donoghue enjoyed heartily the story, he was not the less
surprised that Harry Talbot was the hero of it--all his previous
knowledge of that gentleman leadin