“‘Bring him to me, Ellen.’ “My heart was _leping_—leping up into my mouth. “‘Bring him into the house?’ I repeated. “‘Yes,’ she said, ‘into the house.’ “‘Have I done any thing wrong, ma’am?’ “So she smiled. “‘Nothing, but very right: do as I tell you.’ “That ‘Do as I tell you,’ is the same thing as ‘Hold your tongue.’ So, aunt dear, if you please, you must just fancy me looking for a real, living policeman; and for a wonder, I found him when he was wanted. He soon stood like a _statute_ before my mistress. “She told him word for word what I have told you: he noted it all down in a bit of a book, and was mighty particular over the number of rings and the Talbot watch; he then looked at me, and my mistress nodded for me to leave the room. Now, wasn’t that too bad? “I never felt more hard set to put up with any thing in my born days; but I went—and, only my mistress has nerves, wouldn’t I have banged the door? When the bell rung he was gone: she told me I was to go over in the evening, and see Mary. When I got there, Mrs. Considine was watching for the postman, who was coming down the court. She took a letter from him, which I saw was directed to Mary: she read it hastily, and tossed it into the fire. ‘My relations,’ she said, with a toss of a different kind, ‘hearing of the fine match Mary is going to make, write constantly to get them situations.’ A double story—I was so ashamed for her. Aunt dear, God bless you for teaching me that there is no such thing as an ‘innocent lie.’ The old miser of a man was in a little inner room they have, divided by a passage from the one we were in, where they sleep themselves: the windows open into a lane, dark as dungeon by day or night. He was fumbling at his leather bag, and came out talking to himself, muttering such things as these— “‘At first he said it should be guinea for guinea; but now, it’s two guineas for one—two guineas for one! Ah! Nelly Nowlan, a fine match! The smith had nothing but his four bones, and would have wanted my hard-earned, little savings, and no guinea for guinea, or one to two:’ and his eyes, so dim and glassy, rolled within their seamed lids, and he rubbed his skinny, bloodless hands together, as if joy and gold were all one. ‘Money makes the man,’ he continued, ‘all England owns that: they are a wise people, the English, they never ask _what you are_, but _what you have_. When my pretty daughter sits on her own car, wont every one bow to her and I? O, if I was back in my own place, instead of poor ould Ned Considine, wouldn’t I be Mr. Edward, sir, with a ’squire to it! Ah, ah, I know the world, but the world does not know me!’ “‘Has there been no letter?’ I heard the low, trembling voice of Mary inquire, as she entered the house. “‘The girl’s foolish to be asking after letters. One from Ireland, from our people, wanting places,’ was her mother’s reply.