“Will you let me think so?” cried Conway, pressing her arm closely; and again they were silent Who knows with what thoughts? How dreary did the streets seem as they entered Dublin! The hazy lamps, dulled by the fast-falling rain, threw a misty light through the loaded atmosphere; the streets, deserted by all but the very poorest were silent and noiseless, save for the incessant plash of the rain; few lights were seen on any side, and all was darkness and gloom. Wearily they plodded onward, Sybella deeply sunk in her own thoughts as to the future, and Conway, too respectful of her feelings to interrupt her, never uttered a word as they went. At last they reached Merrion Square, and after some little search stood at the door of Mr. Davenport Dunn. Sybella drew a heavy sigh as Conway knocked loudly, and muttered to herself, “Heaven grant me good tidings of my father!” CHAPTER XXII. AFTER A DINNER-PARTY Mr. Davenport Dunn had a dinner-party,--he entertained the notables of the capital; and a chief secretary, a couple of judges, a poor-law commissioner, and some minor deities, soldier and civilian, formed his company. They were all social, pleasant, and conversational. The country was growing governable, calendars were light, military duty a mere pastime, and they chatted agreeably over reminiscences of a time--not very remote neither--when Rockites were rife, jails crammed, and the fatigues and perils of a soldier not inferior to those of actual warfare. “To our worthy host here!” said the Chief Baron, eying his claret before the light,--and it was a comet vintage,--“to our worthy host here are we indebted for most of this happy change.” “Under Providence,” whispered the oily Dean of the Chapel Royal. “Of course, so I mean,” said the judge, with that kind of impatience he would have met a needless suggestion in court. “Great public works, stupendous enterprises, and immense expenditure of capital have encountered rebellion by the best of all methods,--prosperity!” “Is it really extinct,--has Lazarus died, or is he only sleeping?” interposed a small dark-eyed man, with a certain air of determination and a look of defiance that seemed to invite discussion. “I should, at all events, call it a trance that must lead to perfect recovery,” said the Chief Secretary. “Ireland is no longer a difficulty.” “She may soon become something more,” said the dark man; “instead of embarrassing your counsels, she may go far towards swaying and controlling them. The energies that were once wasted in factious struggles at home here, may combine to carry on a greater combat in England; and it might even happen that your statesmen might look back with envy to days of orange-and-green memory.” “She would gladly welcome the change you speak of.” said the Secretary.