rmit me to call upon
you at Shaws-Castle this morning, in the hope--the anxious hope--of
being allowed to pay my duty to Miss Mowbray, and apologize for not
waiting upon her yesterday. I expect your answer with the utmost
impatience, being always yours, &c. &c. &c.

"ETHERINGTON."

"This," said St. Ronan's to himself, as he folded the letter
deliberately, after having twice read it over, "seems all fair and above
board; I could not wish any thing more explicit; and, moreover, it puts
into black and white, as old Mick would say, what only rested before on
our private conversation. An especial cure for the headache, such a
billet as this in a morning."

So saying, he sat him down and wrote an answer, expressing the pleasure
he should have in seeing his lordship as soon as he thought proper. He
watched even the departure of the groom, and beheld him gallop off, with
the speed of one who knows that his quick return was expected by an
impatient master.

Mowbray remained for a few minutes by himself, and reflected with
delight upon the probable consequences of this match;--the advancement
of his sister--and, above all, the various advantages which must
necessarily accrue to himself, by so close an alliance with one whom he
had good reason to think deep _in the secret_, and capable of rendering
him the most material assistance in his speculations on the turf and in
the sporting world. He then sent a servant to let Miss Mowbray know that
he intended to breakfast with her.

"I suppose, John," said Clara, as her brother entered the apartment,
"you are glad of a weaker cup this morning than those you were drinking
last night--you were carousing till after the first cock."

"Yes," said Mowbray, "that sandbed, old MacTurk, upon whom whole
hogsheads make no impression, did make a bad boy of me--but the day is
over, and they will scarce catch me in such another scrape.--What did
you think of the masks?"

"Supported as well," said Clara, "as such folk support the disguise of
gentlemen and ladies during life; and that is, with a great deal of
bustle, and very little propriety."

"I saw only one good mask there, and that was a Spaniard," said her
brother.

"O, I saw him too," answered Clara; "but he wore his visor on. An old
Indian merchant, or some such thing, seemed to me a better
character--the Spaniard did nothing but stalk about and twangle his
guitar, for the amusement of my Lady Binks, as I think."

"