“Yes,” said Dunn; “but everything is still at sixes and sevens. Lord Derby has been sent for, and Lord John sent for, and Lord Palmerston sent for, but nothing decided on,--nothing done.” “And how will it end?” asked Clowes, like one waiting for the solution of a difficulty. “Who has called this morning?” said Dunn, curtly. “Has Lord Glengariff been here?” “No, sir. Sir Jacob Harris and the Drumsna Directors are all in waiting, and a rather promiscuous lot are in the back parlor. A young soldier, too, was here. He fancied you had asked him to breakfast, and so I made him join mine.” “Indeed!” exclaimed Dunn. “I forgot all about that engagement. How provoking! Can you find out where he is stopping?” “No. But he's sure to drop in again: I half promised him a sort of protection; and he looks a shrewd sort of fellow, and not likely to neglect his hits.” A strange twinkle shone in Dunn's eyes as he heard this speech, and a queer motion at the angle of his mouth accompanied it, but he never spoke a word. As for Conway, meanwhile, he was briskly stepping out towards Clontarf, to inquire after poor Kellett, whose state was one to call for much anxiety. To the intense excitement of the morning there had succeeded a dull and apathetic condition, in which he seemed scarcely to notice anything or anybody. A look half weary, half vacant, was in his eye; his head was drooped; and a low muttering to himself was the only sign he gave of any consciousness whatever. Such was his state when Conway left the cottage late on the night before, with a promise to be back there again early the next morning. Conway saw that the shutters of the little drawing-room were half closed as he entered the garden, and his quiet, cautious knock at the door denoted the fear at his heart. From the window, partly open, came a low, moaning sound, which, as he listened, he discovered to be the sick man's voice. “He was just asking if you had come,” said Bella. “He has been talking of poor Jack, and fancies that you have some tidings of him.” And so saying, she led him into the house. Seated before the fire, in a low chair, his hands resting on his knees, and his gaze fixed on the embers, Kellett never turned his head round as they entered, nor did he notice Bella, as, in a soft, low voice, she mentioned Conway's name. “He has come out to see you, dear papa; to sit with you and keep you company, and talk about dear Jack.” “Ay!” said the sick man, in a vague, purposeless tone; and Conway now took a seat at his side, and laid one of his hands over his. “You are better to-day, Captain Kellett, ain't you?” said he, kindly. “Yes,” said he, in the same tone as before. “And will be still better to-morrow, I trust, and able to come out and take this long walk with me we have so often promised ourselves.”