“Neither are you a favorite with Isabel, or Jezabel, as he calls her.”

“No, I made a bad move there—­but, after all, what did I, or rather, what could I lose by neglecting her?  Did she not succeed in banishing every one of his relatives from about him?  It was neither her interest nor her inclination to keep in with his friends:—­go and see him, at all events; reconnoitre, and report accordingly—­and now if these fellows are come let them be sent in.”

Phil accordingly withdrew to follow up his own speculations, and in a few minutes our friends, who so bravely distinguished themselves in the widow’s cabin, entered the office.  Val, like most men of his class and experience, was forced to undergo strong contests between the vanity occasioned by his success in life, and his own shrewd sense and acute perception of character.  Whenever he could indulge that vanity without allowing its gratification to be perceived by others, he always did so; but if he happened to have a person to deal with, whom he suspected of a sufficiently keen penetration, his own sagacity always checked its display.  No man ever puzzled him so thoroughly as O’Drive, who so varied and timed his flattery, as to keep him in a state of perpetual alternation between a perception of the fellow’s knavery, and a belief in his simplicity of heart.  On one occasion he would exclaim to himself or Phil, “This O’Drive is a desperate knave,—­it’s impossible that he can be honest;” and again, “Well, well; there is too much simplicity there, too much truth unnecessarily told, to allow me to consider that poor devil a rogue—­no, he is honest.”  The consequence was, that Darby flattered him, and he relished it so strongly because he did not imagine it was intentional, that Darby understood his weak points, in that respect, better than any man living.  This, in a country where the people are shrewd observers in general, could scarcely be supposed to escape their observation; nor did it.  Darby’s manner was so naturally imitated by others, that even the keen and vigilant Valentine M’Olutchy was frequently over-reached without being at all conscious of the fact.

When the men of the Castle Cumber corps came in, they found their captain sitting, or rather lolling, in a deep-seated arm-chair, dressed in a morning-gown and red morocco slippers.  He was, or appeared to be, deeply engaged over a pile of papers, parchments, and letters, and for about a minute raised not his head.  At length he drew a long breath, and exclaimed in a soliloquy—­“just so, my lord, just so; every man that scruples to support the Protestant interests will meet no countenance from you;—­’nor shall he, Mr. M’Clutchy, from you, as my representative,’ you add—­’and I beg you’”—­he went on to road a few lines further—­“’to transmit me the names and capacities of all those who are duly active on my property in suppressing disturbance, convicting criminals, and preserving the peace; especially