“Is there, then, no chance of their stopping in Ennis to-night?” As I put the question my mind reverted to Peter and his eternal canter.

“Oh, dear, no, sir; the horses are ordered to take them, since Tuesday; and they only thought of staying in Ennis, if you came time enough to meet them—­and they will be so sorry.”

“Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert? do you, indeed, think so?” said I, in a most insinuating tone.

“I am perfectly sure of it, sir.”

“Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to think so; but perhaps—­that is —­may be, Mrs. Herbert, she said something—­”

“Who, sir?”

“Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leave any message for me about her plants? or did she remember—­”

Mrs. Herbert kept looking at me all the time, with her great wide grey eyes, while I kept stammering and blushing like a school-boy.

“No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; but Lady Jane—­”

“Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs. Herbert?”

“Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not you like to have a little wine and water—­or perhaps—­”

“No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am just a little fatigued—­but you were mentioning—­”

“Yes, sir; I was saying that Lady Jane was mighty particular about a small plant; she ordered it to be left in her dressing-room, though Collins told her to have some of the handsome ones of the green-house, she would have nothing but this; and if you were only to hear half the directions she gave about keeping it watered, and taking off dead leaves, you’d think her heart was set on it.”

Mrs. Herbert would have had no cause to prescribe for my paleness had she only looked at me this time; fortunately, however, she was engaged, housekeeper-like, in bustling among books, papers, &c. which she had come in for the purpose of arranging and packing up.  She being left behind to bring up the rear, and the heavy baggage.

Very few moments’ consideration were sufficient to show me that pursuit was hopeless; whatever might have been Peter’s performance in the reign of “Queen Anne,” he had now become like the goose so pathetically described by my friend Lover, rather “stiff in his limbs,” and the odds were fearfully against his overtaking four horses, starting fresh every ten miles, not to mention their being some hours in advance already.  Having declined all Mrs. Herbert’s many kind offers, anent food and rest, I took a last lingering look at the beautiful pictures, which still held its place in the room lately mine, and hurried from a place so full of recollections; and, notwithstanding the many reasons I had for self-gratulation, every object around and about, filled me with sorrow and regret for hours that had passed—­never, never to return.