Morty O’Flaherty, who had transferred his charge to other hands, fearing that Mister Norton might get into trouble, now came to the rescue.

“Pray,” said Tom, quick as lightning, “is that insane creature below still, a poor woman whose husband broke his neck riding a race for me on the Curragh, and she thinks that I stand to her in that capacity?”

“Oh, yes; she says,” added the man who brought the letter, “that this gentleman’s name is not Norton, but Bryan—­Barney Bryan, I think—­and that he is her husband, exactly as the gentleman says.”

“Just so, my lord,” said Tom, smiling; “poor thing! what a melancholy delusion.”

“I was present at the accident, Mr. Norton,” added Morty, boldly, “and remember the circumstance, in throth, very well.  Didn’t the poor woman lose her senses by it?”

“Yes,” replied Tom, “I have just mentioned the circumstance to his lordship.”

“And—­beg pardon, Mr. Norton—­doesn’t she take you for her husband from that day to this?”

“Yes, so I have said.”

“Oh, God help her, poor thing!  Isn’t she to be pitied?” added Morty, with a dry roguish glance at Mr. Norton; “throth, she has a hard fate of it.  Howaniver, she is gone.  I got her off, an’ now the place is I clear of the unfortunate creature.  The lord look to her!”

The servants then withdrew, and Norton made his parting bow to Lord Cullamore, whom we now leave to his meditations on the subject of this interview.

CHAPTER XXI.  A Spy Rewarded

—­Sir Thomas Gourlay Charged Home by the Stranger with the Removal and Disappearance of his Brother’s Son.

We left the Black Baronet in a frame of mind by no means to be envied by our readers.  The disappearance of his daughter and her maid had stunned and so completely prostrated him, that he had not sufficient energy even for a burst of his usual dark and overbearing resentment.  In this state of mind, however, he was better able to reflect upon the distressing occurrence that had happened.  He bethought him of Lucy’s delicacy, of her sense of honor, her uniform propriety of conduct, her singular self-respect, and after all, of the complacent spirit of obedience with which, in everything but her contemplated union with Lord Dunroe, she had, during her whole life, and under the most trying circumstances, accommodated herself to his wishes.  He then reflected upon the fact of her maid having accompanied her, and concluded, very naturally, that if she had resolved to elope with this hateful stranger, she would have done so in pursuance of the precedent set by most young ladies who take such steps—­that is, unaccompanied by any one but her lover.  From this view of the case he gathered comfort, and was beginning to feel his mind somewhat more at ease, when a servant entered to say that Mr. Crackenfudge requested to see him on particular business.