"This good lady tells me you wish to speak with me, sir," said O'Donnell, after giving the new-comer quite sufficient time to inspect his countenance; "pray what may be your business with me?" "It is of a private nature, Master O'Donnell," replied Mr. Dry, "and may perhaps be better explained at your own house than here, if you will tell me where that is." O'Donnell smiled and shook his head. "I am not fond of private business at my own house, sir," he answered drily. "These are suspicious times; people will be for calling me a malignant or something of that kind. I am a plain man, sir; an honest, open merchant, and not fond of secrets. If you have anything to say, I can hear it here." "Well, then, come into this neighbouring room, my good friend," replied Dry; "to that you can have no objection; and as to being charged with malignancy, methinks the conversation of Ezekiel Dry of Longsoaken would never bring such an accusation upon any man's head." "I beg your pardon, sir; I did not know you," replied O'Donnell, following towards the little room where Mr. Dry had dined after his first arrival. "I have heard of you from the people of Bishop's Merton, whom I occasionally supply with dry beef and neats' tongues from Hamburgh." "Pray be seated, Master O'Donnell," said Mr. Dry closing the door carefully after they had entered; and then, taking a chair opposite to his companion, he went on to speak as follows, interrupting his discourse with sundry hems and haws, which gave him time both to think of what he was next to say, and to examine the countenance of O'Donnell as he proceeded. "You must know, Mr. O'Donnell," he said, "that, after the death of a certain old man--a clear and undoubted malignant--named Sergeant Neil--hum!--with whom I think you have had a good deal to do--ha!" "Very little, sir," replied O'Donnell, as he paused: "I had to pay him some money every year sent to me by my correspondents beyond sea. I should think the man was somewhat of a malignant from some of his letters on the receipt." "Verily was he, and a most ferocious one too," replied Mr. Dry; "but after the death of this person, I, with the consent and appointment of the authorities--hum!--took upon me the care and protection of the girl supposed to be his grand-daughter--hum!--his grand-daughter, as she was called--I say, Master O'Donnell--ha!" "Very kind of you indeed, sir," answered O'Donnell--"especially as old Neil could not die rich." "As poor as a rat," replied Mr. Dry, emphatically. "Pray what was it you paid him per annum, Master O'Donnell?" "About fifty pounds a-year, as far as I recollect," said O'Donnell; "but I cannot tell till I look in my books." "That was but a small sum," rejoined Dry, "for taking care of this girl, when her family are so wealthy and the estates so great--ha!" "Are they, sir?" asked O'Donnell in an indifferent tone, "Pray, whereabouts do they lie?"