“This man,” replied her daughter, “wishes to know the abode of the person I was speaking about.”

“Pray, what is his motive?  What is your motive, my good man, for asking such a question?”

“Bekaise, ma’am,” replied Dandy, “I happen to know a gentleman who has been for some time on the lookout for him, and wishes very much to find where he is.  If it be the young man I spake of, he disappeared some three or four months ago from the town of Ballytrain.”

“Well,” replied Mrs. Mainwaring, with her usual good-sense and sagacity, “as I know not what your motive for asking such a question is, I do not think this lady ought to answer it; but if the gentleman himself is anxious to know, let him see her; and upon giving satisfactory reasons for the interest he takes in him, he shall be informed of his present abode.  You must rest satisfied with this.  Go to the kitchen and say to the servant that I desired her to give you refreshment.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” replied Dandy; “faith, that’s a lively message, anyhow, and one that I feel great pleasure in deliverin’.  This Wicklow air’s a regular cutler; it has sharpened my teeth all to pieces; and if the cook ‘ithin shows me good feedin’ I’ll show her something in the shape of good atin’.  I’m a regular man of talent at my victuals, ma’am, an’ was often tould I might live to die an alderman yet, plaise God; many thanks agin, ma’am.”  So saying, Dandy proceeded at a brisk pace to the kitchen.

“That communication, mamma,” said Mrs. Scarman, after Dandy had left them, “has distressed you.”

“It has, my child.  Poor Miss Gourlay is in a most wretched state.  This I know is, from her lover.  In fact, they will be the death—­absolutely and beyond a doubt—­the death of this admirable and most lovely creature.  But what can I do?  Her father will not permit me to visit her, neither will he permit her to correspond with me, I have already written to him on the risk to which he submits his daughter in this ominous marriage, but I received neither notice of, nor reply to my letter.  Oh, no; the dear girl is unquestionably doomed.  I thinks however, I shall write a few lines in reply to this,” she added, “but, alas the day! they cannot speak of comfort.”

Whilst she is thus engaged, we will take, a peep at the on-goings of Dandy and Nancy Gallaher, in the kitchen, where, in pursuance of his message our bashful valet was corroborating, by very able practice, the account which he had given of the talents he had eulogized so justly.

“Well, in troth,” said he, “but, first and foremost, I haven’t the pleasure of knowin’ yer name.”

“Nancy Gallaher’s my name, then,” she replied.

“Ah,” said Dandy, suspending the fork and an immense piece of ham on the top of it at the Charybdis which he had opened to an unusual extent to receive it; “ah, ma’am, it wasn’t always that, I’ll go bail.  My counthrymen knows the value of such a purty woman not to stamp some of their names upon her.  Not that you have a married look, either, any more than myself; you’re too fresh for that, now that I look at you again.”