“Papa,” said Lady Emily, in a whisper, and with tears in her eyes, “I fear John’s head is a little unsettled by his illness.”

“You will injure yourself, my dear Dunroe,” said his father, “if you talk so much.”

“Not at all, my good lord and father.  But I think I recollect one of their bills of performance, which runs thus:  ’On Saturday, the 25th inst., a tender and affectionate father, stuffed by so many cubic feet of cold wind, foul air, all resulting from extermination and the benevolence of a humane landlord, will in the very wantonness of repletion, feed upon, the dead body of his own child—­for which entertaining performance he will have the satisfaction, subsequently, of enacting with success the interesting character of a felon, and be comfortably lodged at his Majesty’s expense in the jail of the county.’  Why, my lord, how could you expect me to acknowledge such a country?  However, I must talk to Tom Norton about this.  He was born in the country you speak of—­and yet Tom has an excellent appetite; eats like other people; abhors starvation; and is no cannibal.  It is true, I have frequently seen him ready enough to eat a fellow—­a perfect raw-head-and-bloody-bones—­for which reason, I suppose, the principle, or instinct, or whatever you call it, is still latent in his constitution.  But, on the other hand, whenever Tom gnashed his teeth at any one a la cannibale, if the other gnashed his teeth at him, all the cannibal disappeared, and Tom was quite harmless.”

     * This alludes to a dreadful fact of cannibalism, which
     occurred in the South of Ireland in 1846.

“By the way, Dunroe,” said his father, “who is this Tom Norton you speak of?”

“He is my most particular friend, my lord—­my companion—­and traveled with me over the Continent.  He is kind enough to take charge of my affairs:  he pays my servants, manages my tradesmen—­and, in short, is a man whom I could not do without.  He’s up to everything; and is altogether indispensable to me.”

Lord Cullamore paused for some time, and seemed for a moment absorbed in some painful reflection or reminiscence.  At length he said,

“This man, Dunroe, must be very useful to you, if he be what you have just described him.  Does he also manage your correspondence?”

“He does, my lord; and is possessed of my most unlimited confidence.  In fact, I could never get on without him.  My affairs are in a state of the most inextricable confusion, and were it not for his sagacity and prudence, I could scarcely contrive to live at all.  Poor Tom; he abandoned fine prospects in order to devote himself to my service.”

“Such a friend must be invaluable, John,” observed his sister.  “They say a friend, a true friend, is the rarest thing in the world; and when one meets such a friend, they ought to appreciate him.”

“Very true, Emily,” said the Earl; “very true, indeed.”  He spoke, however, as if in a state of abstraction.  “Norton!—­Norton.  Do you know, John, who he is?  Anything of his origin or connections?”