me that Lord Strepp must have had a good sleep himself,
and sure the poor boy needed it, for it's no pleasure to spend life
underground till after you're dead, and his evening in the tunnel must
have been very trying to him, as indeed he admitted to me afterward
that it was.

I called on Father Donovan, and he looked me over from head to foot
with wonder and joy in his eye.

"My dear lad, you're a credit to the O'Ruddys," he said, "and to
Ireland," he said, "and to the Old Head of Kinsale," he said.

"And to that little tailor in London as well," I replied, turning
around so that he might see me the better.

In spite of my chiding him Paddy could not contain his delight, and
danced about the room like an overgrown monkey.

"Paddy," said I, "you're making a fool of yourself."

Then I addressed his Reverence.

"Father Donovan," I began, "this cruel war is over and done with, and
no one hurt and no blood shed, so the Earl--"

At this moment there was a crash and an unearthly scream, then a thud
that sounded as if it had happened in the middle of the earth. Father
Donovan and I looked around in alarm, but Paddy was nowhere to be
seen. Toward the wall there was a square black hole, and, rushing up
to it, we knew at once what had happened. Paddy had danced a bit too
heavy on an old trap-door, and the rusty bolts had broken. It had let
him down into a dungeon that had no other entrance; and indeed this
was a queer house entirely, with many odd nooks and corners about it,
besides the disadvantage of Sir Goddard Oxenbridge tramping through
the rooms in two sections.

"For the love of Heaven and all the Saints," I cried down this
trap-door, "Paddy, what has happened to you?"

"Sure, sir, the house has fallen on me."

"Nothing of the kind, Paddy. The house is where it always was. Are you
hurted?"

"I'm dead and done for completely this time, sir. Sure I feel I'm with
the angels at last."

"Tut, tut, Paddy, my lad; you've gone in the wrong direction
altogether for them."

"Oh, I'm dying, and I feel the flutter of their wings," and as he
spoke two or three ugly blind bats fluttered up and butted their
stupid heads against the wall.

"You've gone in the right direction for the wrong kind of angels,
Paddy; but don't be feared, they're only bats, like them in my own
tower at home, except they're larger."

I called for Tom Peel, as he knew the place well.

"Many a good cask of brandy has gone down that trap-door,"