an
ixtinsive acquaintince wid the nobility an' gintry an' all thira
fellers?"

"Yes," said Russell, "I have; and not in England only, but throughout
the Continent. Not that I think much of the Continental nobility.
Between you and me, I think they're a beggarly lot."

"Thrue for you," said the chief. "Thim's me own sintimints."

"Why, sir," continued Russell, who evidently thought he was making a
deep impression, and so went on all the more in his vainglorious
boastings, "some of these here Continental nobility ain't worth a
brass farthing. Why, sir, there's lots of respectable English
merchants--tailors, for instance--and other quiet, unassuming
gentlemen, who could buy out these Continental nobles, out and out,
over and over again."

"Divil a doubt av that same," said the chief. "Ye know how to ixpriss
yourself wid very shuitable sintimints. I'd like to know more av you.
I suppose ye've got a passport?"

"A passport?" said Russell. "Well, yes, I believe I did get one;" and
fumbling in his pocket, he succeeded in bringing to light that
important document. This the chief took, and, without opening it, put
it in his own pocket.

"I'll take a luk at it prisintly," said he. "Perhaps ye can tell me
about yer frind, the young man that's wid yez. Is he yer son?"

"Son? Oh no; but he's a doosed fine young feller. His name's Rivers."

"Is he rich?"

"Well, he's pretty comfortable, I think. He's in the wine and fruit
business, and has an agency at Barcelona."

"Sure an' it's meself that's glad to hear that same," said the chief.
"An' can ye tell me anything about that other young man that was
shtrivin' to join yer party?"

"That fellow--his name's Ashby."

"Ashby, is it?"

"Yes, and the greatest scoundrel that ever lived--a miserable
fortune-hunter, trying to inveigle my ward into a marriage. I came
here barely in time to save her. And the only object the infernal
scoundrel has now in sneaking after me is to try and get hold of her
and get her from me. But he'll find he's got pretty tough work before
him. He's got me to deal with this time."

"Is the young gyerrul fond av him?" asked the chief, in a tone of
deep anxiety.

"She? Fond of him? Pooh! Nonsense! She's like all girls--likes to
have attentions paid her, that's all; and so this poor fool thought
she would marry him. Why, the man's an ass! But I guess he's had
enough of chasing her by this time. By Jove! there's some
satisfaction, after all, in being