“And pray why so, Harry, if it is a fair question?”

“Perfectly fair; simply because I should not wish to see my sister married to a man unburthened with any kind of principle.  In fact, without the slightest intention whatsoever, Hycy, to offer you offence, I must say that you are not the man to whom I should entrust Maria’s peace and happiness; I am her only brother, and have a right to speak as I do.  I consider it my duty.”

“Certainly,” replied Hycy, “if you think so, I cannot blame you; but I see clearly that you misunderstand my character—­that is all.”

They separated in a few minutes afterwards, and Hycy in a very serious and irritable mood rode homewards.  In truth his prospects at this peculiar period were anything but agreeable.  Here his love-suit, if it could be called so, had just been rejected by Miss Clinton, in a manner that utterly precluded all future hope in that quarter.  With Kathleen Cavanagh he had been equally unsuccessful.  His brother Edward was now at home, too, a favorite with, and inseparable from his father, who of late maintained any intercourse that took place between himself and Hycy, with a spirit of cool, easy sarcasm, that was worse than anger itself.  His mother, also, in consequence of her unjustifiable attempts to defend her son’s irregularities, had lost nearly all influence with her husband, and if the latter should withdraw, as he had threatened to do, the allowance of a hundred a year with which he supplied him, he scarcely saw on what hand he could turn.  With Kathleen Cavanagh and Miss Clinton he now felt equally indignant, nor did his friend Harry escape a strong portion of his ill-will.  Hycy, not being overburthened with either a love or practice of truth himself, could not for a moment yield credence to the assertion of young Clinton, that he took no stops to prejudice his sister against him.  He took it for granted, therefore, that it was to his interference he owed the reception he had just got, and he determined in some way or other to repay him for the ill-services he had rendered him.

The feeling of doubt and uncertainty with which Bryan M’Mahon parted from his landlord and Fethertonge, the agent, after the interview we have already described, lost none of their strength by time.  Hycy’s memorial had been entrusted to Chevydale, who certainly promised to put his case strongly before the Commissioners of Excise; and Bryan at first had every reason to suppose that he would do so.  Whether in consequence of that negligence of his promise, for which he was rather remarkable, or from some sinister influence that may have been exercised over him, it is difficult to say, but the fact was that Bryan had now only ten days between him and absolute ruin.  He had taken the trouble to write to the Secretary of Excise to know if his memorial had been laid before them, and supported by Mr. Chevydale, who, he said, knew the circumstances, and received a reply, stating that no such memorial had been sent, and that Mr. Chevydale had taken no steps in the matter whatsoever.  We shall not now enter into a detail of all the visits he had made to his landlord, whom he could never see a second time, however, notwithstanding repeated solicitations to that effect.  Fethertonge he did see, and always was assured by him that his case was safe and in good hands.