“It’s just my confounded luck,” said she, angrily, “just as I was counting on galling BELINDA, too.  I don’t believe,” she added after a pause, “that BLINKSOP’S got spunk enough to contest it.”

“Perhaps not; but if he should——­”

“Well, what shall I do?” she interrupted, impatiently.

The lawyer reached deliberately over the table, and drank the few drops of wine that remained in ANN’S glass.

“Do,” said he, slowly, “just what you were going to do, in the first place.”

“What!  Marry JEFFRY MAULBOY?”

The lawyer nodded.

“But it’s too late now.  He wouldn’t come.”

“Try it,” was the lawyer’s answer. “Urge him,” he added, significantly.

The woman who hesitates is lost.  ANN hesitated, but she wasn’t lost.  No; she rather thought she was found.

“I’ll do it, old boy,” she finally said, “if I can find him, high or low.  See here, if you don’t hear from me, come here day after to-morrow—­will you—­and bring DIGBY with you?”

The lawyer promised, and took his departure.

ANN immediately wrote a letter, sealed and directed it to JEFFRY MAULBOY, and rung for TEDDY.

“Do you know of a man named JEFFRY MAULBOY?” said she.

TEDDY opened his eyes very wide.

“What, the Prize-Fighter?” said he.  “It’s a jokin’ ye are; fur how could ye ask that same, afther I see him giv’ TIM MCGONIGLE sich an illegant knock-down with me own eyes, at the torchlight procession in the fall of the winter?  And JIM, with a shlit in his ear as was bewtifool to look at, jumps up, and says he——­”

He paused, for tears stood in ANN’S eyes.  The reminiscence was too much for her overcharged soul.

“Yes,” she murmured.  “He was always just such a lovely brick, was JEFF.”  Then she added, with an effort:  “I want you to take this letter to him the first thing in the morning.  Go to Mrs. LADLE’S first, and if he ain’t there—­Do you know where his folks live?”

“I do that.  It’s a lawyer his father is, and lives at Western Bend.  I’ll find him, mum, sure.”

“Do it,” said ANN, “and I’ll find you for a month.”

TEDDY took the letter and retired to his room.

“To JIFFRY MAULBOY the Prize-Fighter,” said he, patting it lovingly.  “Well-a-day!  Who’d a thought it now? Here’s somethin to be proud of. Here’s somethin to boast of like, a settin’ at the fireside, mebbe, with me little ansisters upon me knees.  ’And it’s meself, me little ducks,’ I’d say, ’as carried a letther, with me own hands, to the great JIFFRY MAULBOY, as wiped out PATSY MCFADDEN in a fair shtand-up fight, and giv’ TIM MCGONIGLE a private mark as he carried to his grave.’  I wonder what’s in it?” he continued, holding it up to the light.  “Divil a word now can I see.  That’s illaygil, and shows there’s mischief brewin’.  Now what would an unconvarted haythen do as hadn’t the moril welfare of the community a layin’ close to his heart like?  Carry the letther, and ax no questions.  But what would an airnest Christian do, who’s a bloomin’ all over with religion, and looks upon the piety of the public as the apple of his eye?  He’d take his pinknife, jist so, and shlip the blade under the saylin’-wax, jist so, and pacify his conscience like by raydin’ the letther.”