“Eh, Grog, my boy,” cried he, with a laugh, “as the parsons say, 'Salary less an object than a field of profitable labor!' And, by Jove! the grass will be very short, indeed, where you can't get enough to feed on! There 's no need to give Dunn a caution about reserve, and so forth with him,--he knows Grog well.” Having finished this letter, and placed it carefully in his pocket, he began the other, which, seeing that it was never to be delivered, and only shown to Davis himself, cost him very little trouble in the composition. Still it was not devoid of all difficulty, since, by the expectations it might create in Grog's mind of obtaining the management of the Irish property, it would be actually throwing obstacles in the way of his going abroad. He therefore worded the epistle more carefully, stating it to be his intention that Captain Davis should be his agent at some future time not exactly defined, and requesting Dunn to confer with him as one enjoying his own fullest confidence. He had but finished the document when a sharp knock at the door announced Davis. “The very man I wanted,” said Beecher; “sit down and read that.” Grog took his double eye-glass from his pocket,--an aid to his sight only had recourse to when he meant to scrutinize every word and every letter,--and sat down to read. “Vague enough,” said he, as he concluded. “Small credentials for most men, but quite sufficient for Kit Davis.” “I know that,” said Beecher, half timidly; for no sooner in the redoubted presence than he began to tremble at his own temerity. “This Mr. Dunn is a practical sort of man, they say, so that we shall soon understand each other,” said Davis. “Oh, you'll like him greatly.” “I don't want to like him,” broke in Grog; “nor do I want him to like _me_.” “He's a fellow of immense influence just now; can do what he pleases with the Ministry.” “So much the better for him,” said Grog, bluntly. “And for his friends, sir,” added Beecher. “He has only to send in a name, and he's sure to get what he asks for, at home or abroad.” “How convenient!” said Grog; and whether it was an accident or not, he directed his eyes full on Beecher as he spoke, and as suddenly a deep blush spread over the other's face. “Very convenient, indeed,” went on Grog, while his unrelenting glance never wavered nor turned away. As he stared, so did Beecher's confusion increase, till at last, unable to endure more, he turned away, sick at heart “My Lord Viscount,” said Grog, gravely, “let me give you a word of counsel: never commit a murder; for if you do, your own fears will hang you.” “I don't understand you,” faltered out Beecher.