“Mr. Conyers,” began Miss Barrington, in a voice shaking with agitation, “it is nigh twenty years since a series of misfortunes brought us so low in the world that--” She stopped, partly overcome by indignation, partly by shame; and then, suddenly turning towards the man, she continued, in a firm and resolute tone, “Go back to your master and say, 'Miss Barrington hopes he has sent a fool on his errand, otherwise his message is so insolent it will be far safer he should never present himself here again!' Do you hear me? Do you understand me?” “If you mane you'd make them throw him in the river, the divil a straw I 'd care, and I would n't wet my feet to pick him out of it!” “Take the message as I have given it you, and do not dare to mix up anything of your own with it.” “Faix, I won't. It's trouble enough I have without that! I 'll tell him there's no dinner for him here to-day, and that, if he 's wise, he won't come over to look for it.” “There, go--be off,” cried Conyers, impatiently, for he saw that Miss Barrington's temper was being too sorely tried. She conquered, however, the indignation that at one moment had threatened to master her, and in a voice of tolerable calm said,-- “May I ask you to see if Darby or any other of the workmen are in the garden? It is high time to take down these insignia of our traffic, and tell our friends how we would be regarded in future.” “Will you let me do it? I ask as a favor that I may be permitted to do it,” cried Conyers, eagerly; and without waiting for her answer, hurried away to fetch a ladder. He was soon back again and at work. “Take care how you remove that board, Mr. Conyers,” said she. “If there be the tiniest sprig of jessamine broken, my brother will miss it. He has been watching anxiously for the time when the white bells would shut out every letter of his name, and I like him not to notice the change immediately. There, you are doing it very handily indeed. There is another holdfast at this corner. Ah, be careful; that is a branch of the passion-tree, and though it looks dead, you will see it covered with flowers in spring. Nothing could be better. Now for the last emblem of our craft,--can you reach it?” “Oh, easily,” said Conyers, as he raised his eyes to where the little tin fish hung glittering above him. The ladder, however, was too short, and, standing on one of the highest rungs, still he could not reach the little iron stanchion. “I must have it, though,” cried he; “I mean to claim that as my prize. It will be the only fish I ever took with my own hands.” He now cautiously crept up another step of the ladder, supporting himself by the frail creepers which covered the walls. “Help me now with a crooked stick, and I shall catch it.” [Illustration: 190] “I'll fetch you one,” said she, disappearing within the porch.