“That’s very kind of you, Sir Thomas, and very few would do it,” replied Gillespie, as he left the apartment, to fulfil his execrable mission.

Gillespie having put the bottle of strong spirits into his pocket, wrapped a great coat about him, and, by a subsequent hint from Sir Thomas, tied a large handkerchief across his face, in order the better to conceal his features, and set out on his way to Ballytrain.

It may be remarked with truth, that the projects of crime are frequently aided by those melancholy but felicitous contingencies, which, though unexpected and unlooked for, are calculated to enable the criminal to effect his wicked purposes with more facility and less risk.  Gillespie, on the occasion in question, not only met Fenton within a short distance of the town, and in a lonely place, but also found him far advanced in a state of intoxication.

“Is this Mr. Fenton?” said he.  “How do you do, Mr. Fenton?  A beautiful night, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the unfortunate young man; “it is Mr. Fenton, and you are a gentleman.  Some folks now take the liberty of calling me Fenton, which is not only impudently familiar and ridiculous, but a proof that they do not know how to address a gentleman.”

“You are leaving the town, it seems, Mr. Fenton?”

“Yes, there’s a wake down in Killyfaddy, where there will be a superfluity, sir, of fun; and I like to see fun and sorrow associated.  They harmonize, my friend—­they concatenate.”

“Mr. Fenton,” proceeded Gillespie, “you are a young gentleman—­”

“Yes, sir, that’s the term.  I am a gentleman.  What can I do for you?  I have rare interest among the great and powerful.”

“I don’t at all doubt it,” replied Gillespie; “but I was go in’ to say, sir, that you are a young gentleman that I have always respected very highly.”

“Thanks, my friend, thanks.”

“If it wouldn’t be takin’ a liberty, I’d ask a favor of you.”

“Sir, you are a gentleman, and it should be granted.  Name it.”

“The night, sir, although a fine enough night, is a little sharp, for all that.  Now, I happen to have a sup of as good liquor in my pocket as ever went down the red lane, and if we could only get a quiet sheltering spot, behind one of these ditches, we could try its pulse between us.”

“The project is good and hospitable,” replied poor Fenton, “and has my full concurrence.”

“Well, then, sir,” said the other, “will you be so good as to come along with me, and we’ll make out some snug spot where I’ll have the pleasure of drinkin’ your honor’s health.”

“Good again,” replied the unlucky dupe; “upon my soul you’re an excellent fellow; Proceed, I attend you.  The liquor’s good, you say?”

“Betther was never drank, your honor.”

“Very well, sir, I believe you.  We shall soon, however, put the truth of that magnificent assertion to the test; and besides, sir, it will be an honor for you to share your bottle with a gentleman.”