“Do you expect an answer, sir?” replied Dandy; “and am I to wait for one, or ask for one?”

“I am not quite certain of that,” said the other; “it is altogether discretionary with her.  But there can be no harm in asking the question, at all events.  Any other Mrs. Norton in the way, Dandy?”

“Deuce a once, sir.  I have sifted the whole city, and, barrin’ the three dozen I made out already, I can’t find hilt or hair of another.  Faith, sir, she ought to be worth something when she’s got, for I may fairly say she has cost me trouble enough at any rate, the skulkin’ thief, whoever she is; and me to lose my hundre’ pounds into the bargain—­bad scran to her!”

“Only find me the true Mrs. Norton,” said his master, “and the hundred pounds are yours, and for Fenton fifty.  Be off, now, lose no time, and bring me her answer if she sends any.”

Dandy’s motions were all remarkably rapid, and we need not say that he allowed no grass to grow under his feet while getting over his journey.  On arriving at Summerfield Cottage, he learned that Mrs. Mainwaring was in the garden; and on stating that he had a letter to deliver into her own hands, that lady desired him to be brought in, as she was then in conversation with her daughter, who had been compelled at length to fly from the brutality of her husband, and return once more to the protection of her mother’s roof.  On opening the letter and looking at it, she started, and turning to her daughter said,

“You must excuse me, my dear Maria, for a few moments, but don’t forget to finish what you were telling me about this unfortunate young man, Fenton, as he, you say, calls himself, from Ballytrain.”

“Hello!” thought Dandy, “here’s a discovery.  By the elevens, I’ll hould goold to silver that this is poor Fenton that disappeared so suddenly.”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” said he, addressing Mrs. Scarman as an unmarried lady, as he perceived that she was the person from whom he could receive the best intelligence on the subject; “I hope it’s no offence, miss, to ax a question?”

“None, certainly, my good man,” replied her mother, “provided it be a proper one.”

“I think, miss,” he continued, “that you were mentioning something to this lady about a young man named Fenton, from Ballytrain?”

“I was,” replied Mrs. Scarman, “certainly; but what interest can you have in him?”

“If he’s the young man I mane,” continued Dandy, “he’s not quite steady in the head sometimes.”

“If he were, he would not be in his present abode,” replied the lady.

“And pray, miss—­beg pardon again,” said Dandy, with the best bow and scrape he could manage; “pray, miss, might I be so bould as to ask where that is?”

Mrs. Scarman looked at her mother.  “Mamma,” said she, “but, bless me! what is the matter? you are in tears.”

“I will tell you by and by, my dear Maria,” replied her mother; “but you were going to ask me something—­what was it?”