It is not always that the person most interested in a rumour is first to hear it.  It was reported in Chapelizod, early that day, that Irons, the clerk, had made some marvellous discovery respecting Lord Dunoran, and the murder of which an English jury had found that nobleman guilty.  Had people known that Mervyn was the son of that dishonoured peer—­as in that curious little town they would, no doubt, long since have, at least, suspected, had he called himself by his proper patronymic Mordaunt—­he would not have wanted a visitor to enlighten him half-an-hour after the rumour had began to proclaim itself in the streets and public haunts of the village.  No one, however, thought of the haughty and secluded young gentleman who lived so ascetic a life at the Tiled House, and hardly ever showed in the town, except in church on Sundays; and who when he rode on his black hunter into Dublin, avoided the village, and took the high-road by Inchicore.

When the report did reach him, and he heard that Lowe, who knew all about it, was at the Phoenix, where he was holding a conference with a gentleman from the Crown Office, half wild with excitement, he hurried thither.  There, having declared himself to the magistrate and his companion, in that little chamber where Nutter was wont to transact his agency business, and where poor Sturk had told down his rent, guinea by guinea, with such a furious elation, on the morning but one before he received his death-blow, he heard, with such feelings as may be imagined, the magistrate read aloud, not only the full and clear information of Irons, but the equally distinct deposition of Doctor Sturk, and was made aware of the complete identification of the respectable and vivacious Paul Dangerfield with the dead and damned Charles Archer!

On hearing all this, the young man rode straight to Belmont, where he was closeted with the general for fully twenty minutes.  They parted in a very friendly way, but he did not see the ladies.  The general, however, no sooner bid him farewell at the door-steps than he made his way to the drawing-room, and, big with his amazing secret, first, in a very grave and almost agitated way, told little ‘Toodie,’ as he called his daughter, to run away and leave him together with Aunt Rebecca, which being done, he anticipated that lady’s imperious summons to explain himself by telling her, in his blunt, soldierly fashion, the wondrous story.

Aunt Becky was utterly confounded.  She had seldom before in her life been so thoroughly taken in.  What a marvellous turn of fortune!  What a providential deliverance and vindication for that poor young Lord Dunoran!  What an astounding exposure of that miscreant Mr. Dangerfield!

‘What a blessed escape the child has had!’ interposed the general with a rather testy burst of gratitude.

’And how artfully she and my lord contrived to conceal their engagement!’ pursued Aunt Rebecca, covering her somewhat confused retreat.