’Let’s see Nutter—­you or I must go—­we’ll take one of these songster’s “noddies."’

A ‘noddy’ give me leave to remark, was the one-horse hack vehicle of Dublin and the country round, which has since given place to the jaunting car, which is, in its turn, half superseded by the cab.

And Devereux, followed by Toole, entered the front parlour again.  But without their help, the matter was arranging itself, and a second, of whom they knew nothing, was about to emerge.

CHAPTER IX.

HOW A SQUIRE WAS FOUND FOR THE KNIGHT OF THE RUEFUL COUNTENANCE.

When Dr. Toole grumbled at his disappointment, he was not at all aware how nearly his interview with Loftus had knocked the entire affair on the head.  He had no idea how much that worthy person was horrified by his proposition; and Toole walked off in a huff, without bidding him good-night, and making a remark in which the words ‘old woman’ occurred pretty audibly.  But Loftus remained under the glimpses of the moon in perturbation and sore perplexity.  It was so late he scarcely dared disturb Dr. Walsingham or General Chattesworth.  But there came the half-stifled cadence of a song—­not bacchanalian, but sentimental—­something about Daphne and a swain—­struggling through the window-shutters next the green hall-door close by, and Dan instantly bethought himself of Father Roach.  So knocking stoutly at the window, he caused the melody to subside and the shutter to open.  When the priest, looking out, saw Dan Loftus in his deshabille, I believe he thought for a moment it was something from the neighbouring churchyard.

However, his reverence came out and stood on the steps, enveloped in a hospital aroma of broiled bones, lemons, and alcohol, and shaking his visitor affectionately by the hand—­for he bore no malice, and the Lenten ditty he quite forgave as being no worse in modern parlance than an unhappy ’fluke’—­was about to pull him into the parlour, where there was ensconced, he told him, ‘a noble friend of his.’  This was ’Pat Mahony, from beyond Killarney, just arrived—­a man of parts and conversation, and a lovely singer.’

But Dan resisted, and told his tale in an earnest whisper in the hall.  The priest made his mouth into a round queer little O, through which he sucked a long breath, elevating his brows, and rolling his eyes slowly about.

’A jewel!  And Nutter, of all the men on the face of the airth—­though I often heerd he was a fine shot, and a sweet little fencer in his youth, an’ game, too—­oh, be the powers! you can see that still—­game to the back-bone—­and—­whisht a bit now—­who’s the other?’

‘Lieutenant O’Flaherty.’