“How, sirrah! what do you mean?” said the stranger.

“Why, sir, that we humble folks haven’t all the dishonesty to ourselves.  I think our superiors come in now and then for the lion’s share of it.  There, now, is the Black Baronet.”

“But you are not entering the service of the Black Baronet.”

“No; but the ould scoundrel struck his daughter to-day, because she wouldn’t consent to marry that young profligate, Lord Dunroe; and has her locked up besides.”

The stranger had been standing with his back to the fire, when the Dandy mentioned these revolting circumstances; for the truth was, that Lucy’s maid had taken upon her the office of that female virtue called curiosity, and by the aid of her eye, her ear, and an open key-hole was able to communicate to one or two of the other servants, in the strictest confidence of course, all that had occurred during the interview between father and daughter.  Now it so happened, that Dandy, who had been more than once, in the course of his visits, to the kitchen, promised, as he said, to metamurphy one of them into Mrs. Dulcimer, alias Murphy—­that being his real name—­was accidentally in the kitchen while the dialogue lasted, and for some time afterwards; and as the expectant Mrs. Dulcimer was one of the first to whom the secret was solemnly confided, we need scarcely say that it was instantly transferred to Dandy’s keeping, who mentioned it more from honest indignation than from any other motive.

It would be difficult to describe the combination of feelings that might be read in the stranger’s fine features—­distress, anger, compassion, love, and sorrow, all struggled for mastery.  He sat down, and there was an instant pause in the conversation; for both Dandy and his relative felt that he was not sufficiently collected to proceed with it.  They consequently, after glancing with surprise at each other, remained silent, until the stranger should resume it.  At length, after a struggle that was evidently a severe one, he said,

“Now, my good fellow, no more of this buffoonery.  Will you take service with me for three months, since I am willing to accept you?  Ay or no?”

“As willing as the flowers of May, your honor; and I trust you will never have cause to find fault with me, so far as truth, honesty, and discretion goes.  I can see a thing and not see it.  I can hear a thing and not hear it.  I can do a thing and not do it—­but it must be honest.  In short, sir, if you have no objection, I’m your man.  I like your face, sir; there’s something honorable and manly in it.”

“Perhaps you would wish to name the amount of the wages you expect.  If so, speak.”

“Divil a wage or wages I’ll name, sir; that’s a matter I’ll lave to your own generosity.”

“Very well, then; I start by the ‘Fly’ tonight, and you, observe, are to accompany me.  The trunk which I shall bring with me is already packed, so that you will have very little trouble.”