Though it is probable that he had no cause of any kind for suspicion, yet his mind was in that state of sullen discontent from bodily suffering that gives rise to incessant jealousy. He prowled about the door of her room; sent for her twice down to the little parlour, between breakfast and dinner; looked out whenever he heard a door open; and twice stopped Mrs. White when she was going upstairs, upon the pretence of asking some question. The last time this occurred, his inquiry once more was after Mr. Hugh O'Donnell. "Really, sir, I have not been able to hear," replied Mrs. White; "but I dare say the governor, Sir John, could tell you." "That will not do, woman," replied Mr. Dry, pettishly: "I only seek to hold communion with the godly of the land. How can I tell that Sir John Hotham is any better than an uncircumcised Philistine? Though he have taken a part with the righteous in behalf of this poor country, peradventure it may be but with an eye to the spoil." "Goodness, sir! think of what you are saying in Hull!" exclaimed Mrs. White, giving a glance to some of the bystanders: "you may get yourself into trouble if you speak so of the governor." "Nay, woman; am I not called to lift up my voice and spare not?" rejoined Mr. Dry. "Is this a time for showing a respect to persons? Verily, I will take up a word against them." "Well, then, I am sure I will not stay to hear it," replied the landlady; and away she went, leaving Mr. Dry to finish his exhortation to the maid, the ostler, and two townsmen, if he chose. Shortly after, however, the dinner of the guest was served up to him, and gradually, under its influence, he was restored to a more placable state of mind, having sought the aid of sundry somewhat potent libations, which he termed supporting the inner man, but which Mrs. White denominated taking "a hair of the dog that had bit him." As soon as he had satisfied both hunger and thirst, Mr. Dry took Arrah Neil back to her chamber again, and having locked the door, and sought his hat and cloak in his own room, he walked slowly down the stairs, resolved to pursue his perquisitions for Mr. Hugh O'Donnell in person; but, before he reached the door of the "Swan," his tranquillity was much overset by the entrance of a bold, swaggering, joyous-looking person, whose very cheerfulness of face was offensive in the sight of the sour and sober Mr. Dry. He looked at him, then, with a glance of amazement and reprobation, and then, while our good friend Diggory Falgate brushed past, raised his eyes towards heaven, as if inquiring whether such things as a blithe heart and cheerful countenance could be tolerated on earth.