“Folly that hackney,” said he to the driver, “at what is called a respectful distance, an’ you’ll be no loser by it.”

“Is there a piece of fun in the wind?” asked the driver, with a knowing grin.

“When you go to your Padereens tonight,” replied Dandy, “that is, in case you ever trouble them, you may swear it on them.”

“Whish!  More power—­I’m the boy will rowl you on.”

“There, they’re off,” said Dandy; “but don’t be in a hurry, for fraid we might seem to folly them—­only for your life and sowl, and as you hope to get half-a-dozen gum-ticklers when we come come back—­don’t let them out o’ sight.  By the rakes o’ Mallow, this jaunt may be the makin’ o’ you.  Says his lordship to me, ‘Dandy,’ says he, ’find out where she goes to, and you and every one that helps you to do so, is a made man.’”

“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the driver, with glee, “is that it?  Come, then—­here’s at you—­they’re off.”

It was not yet five o’clock, and the stranger requested to be shown to a bedroom, to which he immediately retired, in order to gain a few hours’ sleep, after the fatigue of his journey and the agitation which he had Undergone.

In the meantime, as Dandy followed Miss Gourlay, so shall we follow him.  The chase, we must admit, was conducted with singular judgment and discretion, the second chaise jogging on—­but that, in fact, is not the term—­we should rather say flogging on, inasmuch as that which contained the fair fugitives went at a rate of most unusual speed.  In this manner they proceeded, until they reached a very pretty cottage, about three quarters of a mile from the town of Wicklow, situated some fifty or sixty yards in from the road side.  Here they stopped; but Dandy desired his man to drive slowly on.  It was evident that this cottage was the destination of the fugitives.  Dandy, having turned a corner of the road, desired the driver to stop and observe whether they entered or not; and the latter having satisfied himself that they did—­

“Now,” said Dandy, “let us wait where we are till we see whether the chaise returns or not; if it does, all’s right, and I know what I know.”

In a few minutes the empty chaise started once more for Dublin, followed, as before, by the redoubtable Dulcimer, who entered the city a much more important person than when he left it.  Knowledge, as Bacon says, is power.

About two o’clock the stranger was dressed, had breakfasted, and having ordered a car, proceeded to Constitution Hill.  As he went up the street, he observed the numbers of the houses as well as he could, for some had numbers and some had not.  Among the latter was that he sought for, and he was consequently obliged to inquire.  At length he found it, and saw by a glance that it was one of those low lodging-houses to which country folks of humble rank—­chapmen, hawkers, pedlers, and others of a, similar character—­resort.  It was evident, also, that the proprietor dealt in huckstery,