‘No. I told you already I have begun a tobacco reformation.’ ‘Does she object to the pipe?’ ‘I cannot tell you. The fact is, Lockwood, my future and its fortunes are just as uncertain as your own. This day week will probably have decided the destiny of each of us.’ ‘To our success, then!’ cried the major, filling both their glasses. ‘To our success!’ said Walpole, as he drained his, and placed it upside down on the table. CHAPTER LXIX AT KILGOBBIN CASTLE The ‘Blue Goat’ at Moate was destined once more to receive the same travellers whom we presented to our readers at a very early stage of this history. ‘Not much change here,’ cried Lockwood, as he strode into the little sitting-room and sat down. ‘I miss the old fellow’s picture, that’s all.’ ‘Ah! by the way,’ said Walpole to the landlord, ‘you had my Lord Kilgobbin’s portrait up there the last time I came through here.’ ‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ said the man, smoothing down his hair and looking apologetically. ‘But the Goats and my lord, who was the Buck Goat, got into a little disagreement, and they sent away his picture, and his lordship retired from the club, and--and--that was the way of it.’ ‘A heavy blow to your town, I take it,’ said the major, as he poured out his beer. ‘Well, indeed, your honour, I won’t say it was. You see, sir, times is changed in Ireland. We don’t care as much as we used about the “neighbouring gentry,” as they called them once; and as for the lord, there! he doesn’t spend a hundred a year in Moate.’ ‘How is that?’ ‘They get what they want by rail from Dublin, your honour; and he might as well not be here at all.’ ‘Can we have a car to carry us over to the castle?’ asked Walpole, who did not care to hear more of local grievances. ‘Sure, isn’t my lord’s car waiting for you since two o’clock!’ said the host spitefully, for he was not conciliated by a courtesy that was to lose him a fifteen-shilling fare. ‘Not that there’s much of a horse between the shafts, or that old Daly himself is an elegant coachman,’ continued the host; ‘but they’re ready in the yard when you want them.’ The travellers had no reason to delay them in their present quarters, and taking their places on the car, set out for the castle. ‘I scarcely thought when I last drove this road,’ said Walpole, ‘that the next time I was to come should be on such an errand as my present one.’ ‘Humph!’ ejaculated the other. ‘Our noble relative that is to be does not shine in equipage. That beast is dead lame.’ ‘If we had our deserts, Lockwood, we should be drawn by a team of doves, with the god Cupid on the box.’ ‘I’d rather have two posters and a yellow postchaise.’ A drizzling rain that now began to fall interrupted all conversation, and each sank back into his own thoughts for the rest of the way. Lord Kilgobbin, with his daughter at his side, watched the car from the terrace of the castle as it slowly wound its way along the bog road.