“Good morning, Poll!  Let me hear from you as soon as you can.  Peace be with thee! but Poll, remember one thing, Harman and the M’Loughlins are going to America.”  Poll nodded significantly, but made no reply.

The moment she had gone, which she did by the aid of Solomon himself, who opened and closed the hall door after her, with a quietness of manner that seemed to communicate oil to the hinges themselves, he touched the bell, and in due time Susanna looked in.

“You rang, sir,” said she.

“That arrangement is made;” said he, “so far all is well, or nearly so—­go now.”  Susanna immediately withdrew, the few words he said seeming to have diffused sunshine into a face which appeared doubly serious.

When she was gone, Solomon laid his head down upon the desk before him, and remained in that position for some time.  At length without at all raising it he began to play his knuckles against the lid, with a degree of alacrity which would not have disgraced the activity of a sleight-of-hand man.  He at last rose, drew a long breath, and wore a very smiling face; but this was not all—­O sanctity!  O religion!  Instead of going to his Bible, as one would imagine he ought to have done, instead of even taking up a psalm-book, and indulging in a spiritual song, he absolutely commenced whistling the Swaggering Jig, which he accompanied with as nimble a foot, and in as good time as if he had been a dancing-master all his life.

“Ah,” said he, “I could have done it once, and would like to do it still, only for this wicked and censorious world.”  A knock from Darby O’Drive recalled him to a perception of his gifts, and when Darby entered he looked calm and serious as usual.  Little could Darby have imagined, although perfectly aware of M’Slime’s knavery, that the pious little man had just concluded “a short exercise,” in performing the Swaggering Jig.  As it was, however, he found him in a state which might either be termed a religious meditation, or an intense application to business—­a Bible being on the one hand, and a brief on the other; but to which of the two he had devoted himself, neither Darby, nor indeed any one else, could guess.  There, however, he sat, a kind of holy link between the law and the gospel.

When Darby entered, and delivered the letter, M’Slime on receiving it exclaimed, “Ah, from my excellent friend, M’Clutchy.  Sit down, Darby, sit down, and whilst I am casting my eye over this note, do now, in order that we may make the most of our opportunities, do, I say, Darby, just read a chapter in this—­” handing him over the Bible as he spoke.  In the meantime he read as follows:—­

“Strictly confidential.

“My Dear M’Slime: