So it happened that Captain O’Hara had no opportunity on that occasion of seeing his proposed son-in-law.  Mr. Crowe, fully crediting the power confided to him, did as he was bidden.  He was very harsh to the poor Captain; but in such a condition a man can hardly expect that people should not be harsh to him.  The Captain endeavoured to hold up his head, and to swagger, and to assume an air of pinchbeck respectability.  But the attorney would not permit it.  He required that the man should own himself to be penniless, a scoundrel, only anxious to be bought; and the Captain at last admitted the facts.  The figure was the one thing important to him,—­the figure and the nature of the assurance.  Mr. Crowe had made his calculations, and put the matter very plainly.  A certain number of francs,—­a hundred francs,—­would be paid to him weekly at any town in France he might select,—­which however would be forfeited by any letter written either to Mrs. O’Hara, to Miss O’Hara, or to the Earl.

“The Earl!” ejaculated the Captain.

Mr. Crowe had been unable to refrain his tongue from the delicious title, but now corrected himself.  “Nor Mr. Neville, I mean.  No one will be bound to give you a farthing, and any letter asking for anything more will forfeit the allowance altogether.”  The Captain vainly endeavoured to make better terms, and of course accepted those proposed to him.  He would live in Paris,—­dear Paris.  He took five pounds for his journey, and named an agent for the transmission of his money.

And so Fred Neville was the Earl of Scroope.  He had still one other task to perform before he could make his journey home.  He had to send tidings in some shape to Ardkill of what had happened.  As he returned to the barracks from Mr. Crowe’s residence he thought wholly of this.  That other matter was now arranged.  As one item of the cost of his adventure in County Clare he must pay two hundred a year to that reprobate, the Captain, as long as the reprobate chose to live,—­and must also pay Mr. Crowe’s bill for his assistance.  This was a small matter to him as his wealth was now great, and he was not a man by nature much prone to think of money.  Nevertheless it was a bad beginning of his life.  Though he had declared himself to be quite indifferent on that head, he did feel that the arrangement was not altogether reputable,—­that it was one which he could not explain to his own man of business without annoyance, and which might perhaps give him future trouble.  Now he must prepare his message for the ladies at Ardkill,—­especially to the lady whom on his last visit to the cottage he had found armed with a dagger for the reception of her husband.  And as he returned back to the barracks it occurred to him that a messenger might be better than a letter.  “Simpkinson,” he said, going at once into the young man’s bed-room, “have you heard what has happened to me?” Simpkinson had heard all about it, and expressed himself