And when all was completed, and the soft and balmy air sent the odor of the rose and the jessamine through the open windows, within which every appearance of ease and comfort prevailed, Miss Barrington sat down at the piano and began to refresh her memory of some Irish airs, old favorites of Withering's, which he was sure to ask for. There was that in their plaintive wildness which strongly interested Conyers; while, at the same time, he was astonished at the skill of one at whose touch, once on a time, tears had trembled in the eyes of those who listened, and whose fingers had not yet forgot their cunning. “Who is that standing without there?” said Miss Barrington, suddenly, as she saw a very poor-looking countryman who had drawn close to the window to listen. “Who are you? and what do you want here?” asked she, approaching him. “I 'm Terry, ma'am,--Terry Delany, the Major's man,” said he, taking off his hat. “Never heard of you; and what 's your business?” “'T is how I was sent, your honor's reverence,” began he, faltering at every word, and evidently terrified by her imperious style of address. “'Tis how I came here with the master's compliments,--not indeed his own but the other man's,--to say, that if it was plazing to you, or, indeed, anyhow at all, they 'd be here at five o'clock to dinner; and though it was yesterday I got it, I stopped with my sister's husband at Foynes Gap, and misremembered it all till this morning, and I hope your honor's reverence won't tell it on me, but have the best in the house all the same, for he's rich enough and can well afford it.” “What can the creature mean?” cried Miss Barrington. “Who sent you here?” “The Major himself; but not for him, but for the other that's up at Cobham.” “And who is this other? What is he called?” “'Twas something like Hooks, or Nails; but I can't remember,” said he, scratching his head in sign of utter and complete bewilderment. “Did any one ever hear the like! Is the fellow an idiot?” exclaimed she, angrily. “No, my lady; but many a one might be that lived with ould M'Cormick!” burst out the man, in a rush of unguardedness. “Try and collect yourself, my good fellow,” said Miss Barrington, smiling, in spite of herself, at his confession, “and say, if you can, what brought you here?” “It's just, then, what I said before,” said he, gaining a little more courage. “It's dinner for two ye're to have; and it's to be ready at five o'clock; but ye 're not to look to ould Dan for the money, for he as good as said he would never pay sixpence of it, but 't is all to come out of the other chap's pocket, and well affordin' it. There it is now, and I defy the Pope o' Rome to say that I did n't give the message right!”