“Why, you saw his face since the affair, and I did n't.” “It would need a better physiognomist than I am to read it. He looked exactly as he always does; a thought paler, perhaps, but no other change.” “Here comes a fellow with news,” said Jennings, throwing open the window. “I say, my man, is it over?” “No, sir; the jury want to see one of Mr. Cashel's boots.” Jennings closed the sash, and, lighting a cigar, sat down in an easy-chair. A desultory conversation here arose among some of the younger military men whether a coroner's verdict were final, and whether a “fellow could be hanged” when it pronounced him guilty; the astute portion of the debaters inclining to the opinion that although this was not the case in England, such would be “law” in Ireland. Then the subject of confiscation was entertained, and various doubts and surmises arose as to what would become of Tubbermore when its proprietor had been executed; with sly jests about the reversionary rights of the Crown, and the magnanimity of extending mercy at the price of a great landed estate. These filled up the time for an hour or so more, interspersed with conjectures as to Cashel's present frame of mind, and considerable wonderment why he had n't “bolted” at once. At last Upton's groom was seen approaching at a tremendous pace; and in a few minutes after he had pulled up at the door, and dismounting with a spring, hastened into the house. “Well, Robert, how did it go?” cried Upton, as, followed by the rest, he met him in the hall. “You 've lost, sir,” said the man, wiping his forehead. “Confound the rascals! But what are the words of the verdict?” “'Wilful murder,' sir.” “Of course,” said Frobisher, coolly; “they could give no other.” “It's no use betting against you,” cried Upton, pettishly. “You are the luckiest dog in Europe.” “Come, I 'll give you a chance,” said Frobisher; “double or quit that they hang him.” “No, no; I 've lost enough on him. I 'll not have it.” “Well, I suppose we've nothing to wait for now,” yawned Jennings. “Shall we start?” “Not till we have luncheon, I vote,” cried an infantry sub.; and his suggestion met general approval. And while they are seated at a table where exquisite meats and rarest wines stimulated appetite and provoked excess, let us turn for a few brief moments to him who, still their entertainer, sat in his lone chamber, friendless and deserted.