It was about five o’clock on a dark, wintry morning as I led my horse through the well-known defiles of out-houses and stables which formed the long line of offices to my uncle’s house. As yet no one was stirring; and as I wished to have my arrival a secret from the family, after providing for the wants of my gallant gray, I lifted the latch of the kitchen-door--no other fastening being ever thought necessary, even at night--and gently groped my way towards the stairs; all was perfectly still, and the silence now recalled me to reflection as to what course I should pursue. It was all-important that my uncle should know nothing of my quarrel, otherwise he would inevitably make it his own, and by treating me like a boy in the matter, give the whole affair the very turn I most dreaded. Then, as to Sir Harry Boyle, he would most certainly turn the whole thing into ridicule, make a good story, perhaps a song out of it, and laugh at my notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I knew, was my man; but then he was at Athlone,--at least so my uncle’s letter mentioned. Perhaps he might have returned; if not, to Athlone I should set off at once. So resolving, I stole noiselessly up-stairs, and reached the door of the count’s chamber; I opened it gently and entered; and though my step was almost imperceptible to myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm the watchful occupant of the room, who, springing up in his bed, demanded gruffly, “Who’s there?” “Charles, sir,” said I, shutting the door carefully, and approaching his bedside. “Charles O’Malley, sir. I’m come to have a bit of your advice; and as the affair won’t keep, I have been obliged to disturb you.” “Never mind, Charley,” said the count; “sit down, there’s a chair somewhere near the bed,--have you found it? There! Well now, what is it? What news of Blake?” “Very bad; no worse. But it is not exactly _that_ I came about; I’ve got into a scrape, sir.” “Run off with one of the daughters,” said Considine. “By jingo, I knew what those artful devils would be after.” “Not so bad as that,” said I, laughing. “It’s just a row, a kind of squabble; something that must come--” “Ay, ay,” said the count, brightening up; “say you so, Charley? Begad, the young ones will beat us all out of the field. Who is it with,--not old Blake himself; how was it? Tell me all.” I immediately detailed the whole events of the preceding chapter, as well as his frequent interruptions would permit, and concluded by asking what farther step was now to be taken, as I was resolved the matter should be concluded before it came to my uncle’s ears. “There you are all right; quite correct, my boy. But there are many points I should have wished otherwise in the conduct of the affair hitherto.” Conceiving that he was displeased at my petulance and boldness, I was about to commence a kind of defence, when he added,--