“I am longing that you should know my son,” she observed at last. “He is of the same age as your brother, and I have a presentiment that they will be friends. Louis is a true enthusiast, and it is this trait in his character that has caused us no small anxiety. My husband has perhaps told you that until a short time ago the unfortunate boy was an officer in the Scythian army. Would you believe that he has resigned his post in order to join the Thracian revolutionists?” “Indeed?” said Caerleon, much interested; “and has he joined them yet?” “No, but he intends to do so as soon as possible. Imagine his throwing away all his prospects like this! It is madness.” “Come now, Barbara,” put in the O’Malachy from his end of the table. “Louie is a very decent feller, and he may make his way yet. You wouldn’t believe that I meself began life as a leader in the Sarmatian insurrection, would you?” he asked, turning to the young men with an air of extreme innocence. “No, indeed,” said Caerleon, dimly conscious that Cyril started, and pursed up his lips as though to whistle. “It’s true, then. When I left Ireland as a young man, after a little difficulty with the Government connectud with the troubles of ’48, I took, though it is not I should say ut, a prominent part in the Sarmatian affair, and yet here I am now, a colonel in the Scythian army. I learned wisdom, you see. The Scythians were not so bad as I had thought them, and the Sarmatians were a good deal worse, and so ut happened that I changed sides, perhaps with a little persuasion of another kind addud on,” and he glanced waggishly at his wife, who laughed rather nervously, and remarked that the candles were burning low. “But have you never visited England since 1848?” asked Caerleon. “Surely there can be no danger of your being arrested now? I hope I may have the pleasure of welcoming you at Llandiarmid yet.” “Yes,” said Cyril, “if you began as a Sarmatian revolutionist and end as a Scythian officer, we may hope to see you in a comfortable berth in the Constabulary yet, O’Malachy.” “Ah, but there’s another businuss since ’48,” said the O’Malachy. “You know Balster, the feller that was made Irush Secretary two or three years ago? When I heard he had got the Irush Offus, I sent um a present of a box of cigars, the brand I always smoke meself--he had admired them greatly when I met um at Ludwigsbad some time before. Well, would you believe ut? Sure ’twas a mighty queer piece of work--the police opened the box when ut got to Doblun, and they found dynamite in ut. So then they accused me of trying to blow the man up, and I daren’t set foot in me native land. I was sorry, of course; but how was ut me fault?” “Do you mean to imply,” asked Caerleon, “that the police took the cigars out and put dynamite instead of them?”