“‘Harry,’ cried the host, as he touched his elbow, ‘let me introduce a very particular friend of mine--Mr. O’Kelly.’ “Captain Douglas wheeled sharply round, and, fixing on me a pair of dark eyes, overshadowed with heavy beetling brows, looked at me sternly without speaking. A cold thrill ran through me from head to foot as I met his gaze; the last time we had seen each other was in a square of the Royal Barracks, where _he_, was purchasing a remount for his troop, and _I_, was the horse-dealer. “‘_Your_ friend, Mr. O’Kelly!’ said he, as he fixed his glass in his eye, and a most insulting curl, half smile, half sneer, played about his mouth. “‘How very absurd you are, Harry,’ said Miss Blundell, endeavouring by an allusion to something they were speaking of, to relieve the excessive awkwardness of the moment. “‘Yes, to be sure, _my_ friend,’ chimed in Sir Harvey, ‘and a devilish good fellow too, and the best judge of horse-flesh.’ “‘I havn’t a doubt of it,’ was the dry remark of the Captain; ‘but how did he get here?’ “‘Sir,’ said I, in a voice scarce audible with passion, ‘whatever, or whoever I am, by birth at least I am fully your equal.’ “‘D----n your pedigree,’ said he coolly. “‘Why, Harry, interrupted Blundell: ‘what are you thinking of? Mr. O’Kelly is----’ “‘A jockey--a horse-dealer, if you will, and the best hand at passing off a screw, I’ve met for some time. I say, sir,’ continued he in a louder tone, ‘that roan charger hasn’t answered his warranty--he stands at Dycer’s for you.’ “Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of us, the consternation could not have been greater--as for me, everything around bore a look of mockery and scorn: derision and contempt sat on every feature, and a wild uncertainty of purpose, like coming insanity, flitted through my brain: what I said, or how I quitted the spot, I am unable to say; my last remembrance of that accursed moment was the burst of horrid laughter that filled my ears, as I rushed out. I almost think that I hear it still, like the yell of the furies; its very cadence was torture. I ran from the house--I crossed the fields without a thought of whither I was going--escape, concealment, my only object. I sought to hide myself for ever from the eyes of those who had looked upon me with such withering contempt; and I would have been thankful to him who would have given me refuge, beneath the dank grass of the churchyard.