“There are a great many troubles in this life, sir, especially in married families.”

“There is no doubt of that, my friend,” replied the conjurer.

“No, sir, there is not.  I am not aisy in my mind, somehow.”

“Hundreds of thousands are so, as well as you,” replied the other.  “I would be glad to see the man who has not something to trouble him; but will you allow me to ask you what it is that troubles you?”

“I took her, sir, widout a shift to her back, and a betther husband never breathed the breath of life than I have been to her;” and then he paused, and pulling out his handkerchief, shed bitter tears.  “I would love her still, if I could, sir; but, then, the thing’s impossible.”

“O, yes,” said the conjurer; “I see you are jealous of her; but will you state upon what grounds?”

“Well, sir, I think I have good grounds for it.”

“What description of a woman is your wife, and what age is she?”

“Why, sir, she’s about my own age.  She was once handsome enough—­indeed, very handsome when I married her.”

“Was the marriage a cordial one between you and her?”

“Why, sir, she was dotin’ upon me, as I was upon her?”

“Have you had a family?”

“A fine family, sir, of sons and daughters.”

“And how long is it since you began to suspect her?”

“Why, sir, I—­I—­well, no matther about that; she was always a good wife and a good mother, until—­” Here he paused, and again wiped his eyes.

“Until what?”

“Why, sir, until Billy Fulton, the fiddler, came across her.”

“Well, and what did Billy Fulton do?”

“He ran away wid my ould woman, sir.”

“What age is Billy Fulton?”

“About my own age, sir; but by no means so stout a man; he’s a dancin’ masther, too, sir; and barrin’ his pumps and white cotton stockin’s, I don’t know what she could see in him; he’s a poor light crature, and walks as if he had a hump on his hip, for he always carries his fiddle undher his skirt.  Ay, and what’s more, sir, our daughter, Nancy, is gone off wid him.”

“The devil she is.  Why, did the old dancing-master run off with both of them?  How long is it since this elopement took place?”

“Only three days, sir.”

“And you wish me to assist you?”

“If you can, sir; and I ought to tell you that the vagabone’s son is gone off wid them too.”

“O, O,” said the conjurer, “that makes the matter worse.”

“No, it doesn’t, sir, for what makes the matter worse is, that they took away a hundred and thirty pounds of my money along wid ’em.”

“Then you wish to know what I can do for you in this business?”

“I do, sir, i’ you plaise.”

“Were you ever jealous of your wife before?”

“No, not exactly jealous, sir, but a little suspicious or so; I didn’t think it safe to let her out much; I thought it no harm to keep my eye on her.”