At a little before ten Captain Johnstone retired, and the Cornet attempted an apology.  He had not meant to say anything that Neville would not like.  “It doesn’t signify, my dear boy; only as a rule, never mention women’s names,” said Neville, speaking as though he were fully fitted by his experience to lay down the law on a matter so delicate.  “Perhaps one hadn’t better,” said the Cornet,—­and then that little difficulty was over.  Cornet Simpkinson however thought of it all afterwards, and felt that that evening and that hour had been more important than any other evening or any other hour in his life.

At half-past ten, when Neville was beginning to think that he would take himself to bed, and was still cursing the evil star which had brought him to County Clare, there arose a clatter at the outside gate of the small barrack-yard.  A man had posted all the way down from Limerick and desired to see Mr. Neville at once.  The man had indeed come direct from Scroope,—­by rail from Dublin to Limerick, and thence without delay on to Ennis.  The Earl of Scroope was dead, and Frederic Neville was Earl of Scroope.  The man brought a letter from Miss Mellerby, telling him the sad news and conjuring him in his aunt’s name to come at once to the Manor.  Of course he must start at once for the Manor.  Of course he must attend as first mourner at his uncle’s grave before he could assume his uncle’s name and fortune.

In that first hour of his greatness the shock to him was not so great but that he at once thought of the O’Haras.  He would leave Ennis the following morning at six, so as to catch the day mail train out of Limerick for Dublin.  That was a necessity; but though so very short a span of time was left to him, he must still make arrangements about the O’Haras.  He had hardly heard the news half an hour before he himself was knocking at the door of Mr. Crowe the attorney.  He was admitted, and Mr. Crowe descended to him in a pair of slippers and a very old dressing-gown.  Mr. Crowe, as he held his tallow candle up to his client’s face, looked as if he didn’t like it.  “I know I must apologize,” said Neville, “but I have this moment received news of my uncle’s death.”

“The Earl?”

“Yes.”

“And I have now the honour of—­speaking to the Earl of Scroope.”

“Never mind that.  I must start for England almost immediately.  I haven’t above an hour or two.  You must see that man, O’Hara, without me.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“You shouldn’t speak to me in that way yet,” said Neville angrily.  “You will be good enough to understand that the terms are fixed;—­two hundred a year as long, as he remains in France and never molests anyone either by his presence or by letter.  Thank you.  I shall be so much obliged to you!  I shall be back here after the funeral, and will arrange about payments.  Good-night.”