“Well,” said Bryan, “I’m sure I for one hope you may be right; but, at any rate, as he’s at home now I’ll start and see him.”

“Do then,” said his father, “bekaise I know you’re a favorite of his; for he tould me so wid his own lips.”

“Well,” replied the other, laughing, “I hope you’re right there too; I’m sure I have no objection;” and he accordingly set out to see Fethertonge, but with something of an impression that the object of his visit was not likely to be accomplished without difficulty, if accomplished at all.

On reaching the agent’s house he met a thin, tall man, named Clinton, with a hooked nose and sinister aspect, riding down the avenue, after having paid Fethertonge a visit.  This person was the gauger of the district, a bachelor and a man of considerable wealth, got together, it is suspected, by practices that were not well capable of bearing the light.  His family consisted of a niece and a nephew, the latter of whom had recently become a bosom friend of the accomplished Hycy Burke, who, it was whispered, began to look upon Miss Clinton with a partial eye.  Hycy had got acquainted with him at the Herringstown races, where he, Hycy, rode and won a considerable sweepstakes; and as both young gentlemen were pretty much of the same habits of life, a very warm intimacy had, for some time past, subsisted between them.  Clinton, to whom M’Mahon was known, addressed him in a friendly manner, and, after some chat, he laid the point of his whip gently upon Bryan’s shoulder, so as to engage his attention.

“M’Mahon,” said he, “I am glad I have met you, and I trust our meeting will be for your good.  You have had a dispute with Hycy Burke?”

“Why, sir,” replied Bryan, smiling, “if I had it wasn’t such as it was worth his while to talk about.”

“Well, M’Mahon, that’s generously said on your part—­now, listen to me; don’t allow yourself to be drawn into any illegal or illicit proceedings by any one, friend or foe—­if so, you will only put yourself into the power of your enemies; for enemies you have, I can assure you.”

“They say, sir, there is no one without them,” replied Bryan, smiling; “but so far as I am consarned, I don’t exactly understand what you mane.  I have no connection with anything, either illegal or—­or—­wrong in any way, Mr. Clinton, and if any one tould you so, they spoke an untruth.”

“Ay, ay,” said Clinton, “that may be so, and I hope it is so; but you know that it could not be expected you would admit it even if it be true.  Will you in the mean time, be guided by a friend?  I respect your father and his family; I respect yourself, M’Mahon; and, consequently, my advice to you is—­keep out of the meshes of the law—­avoid violating it—­and remember you have enemies.  Now think of these words, and so good-bye, M’Mahon!  Indeed, I am glad for your own sake I met you—­good-bye!”

As he uttered the last words he dashed on and left Bryan in a state of perfect amazement at the strange and incomprehensible nature of the communication he had just received.  Indeed, so full was his mind of the circumstance, that forgetting all his suspicions of Fethertonge, and urged by the ingenuous impulse of an honest heart, he could not prevent himself in the surprise and agitation of the moment from detailing the conversation which he had just had with the gauger.