“That because I have a momentary occasion for a small sum of ready money, he should send over to confer with me a half-witted--I mean a man only half recovered from a fever--a poor fellow still suffering from--” “Yes, my Lord,” interposed Terry, as he laid his hand on his forehead in token of the seat of his calamity. “It is too gross,--it is outrageous,--but Dunn shall hear of it,--Dunn shall deal with this fellow when he comes back. I 'm sorry for you, Driscoll,--very sorry indeed; it is a sad bereavement, and though you are not exactly a case for an asylum,--perhaps, indeed, you might have objections to an asylum--” “Yes, my Lord.” “Well, in that case private friends are, I opine--private friends--and the kind sympathies of those who have known you--eh, don't you think so?” “Yes, my Lord.” “That is the sensible view to take of it. I am glad you see it in this way. It shows that you really exercise a correct judgment,--a very wise discretion in your case,--and for a man in _your_ situation--your _painful_ situation--you see things in their true light.” “Yes, my Lord.” And this time the eyes rolled with a most peculiar expression. “If you should relapse, however,--if, say, former symptoms were to threaten again,--remember that I am on the committee, or a governor, or something or other, of one of these institutions, and I might be of use to you. Remember that, Driscoll.” And with a wave of his hand his Lordship dismissed Terry, who, after a series of respectful obeisances, gained the door and disappeared. CHAPTER VI. SYBELLA KELLETT.