After I got home I did not shave for two days, and scarcely ever spoke. I should have taken to my bed to avoid seeing any human creature; but I knew that if I declared myself ill, no power would keep my old nurse Ellinor from coming to moan over me; and I was not in a humour to listen to stories of the Irish Black Beard, or the ghost of King O’Donoghoe; nor could I, however troublesome, have repulsed the simplicity of her affection. Instead of going to bed, therefore, I continued to lie stretched upon a sofa, ruminating sweet and bitter thoughts, after giving absolute orders that I should not be disturbed on any account whatever. Whilst I was in this state of reverie, one of my servants--an odd Irish fellow, who, under pretence of being half-witted, took more liberties than his companions--bolted into my presence. “Plase your lordship, I thought it my duty, in spite of ‘em all below, to come up to advertise to your lordship of the news that’s going through the country. That they are all upside down at Ormsby Villa, all mad entirely--fighting and setting off through the kingdom, every one their own way; and, they say, it’s all on account of something that Miss Clemmy Ormsby told, that Lady Geraldine said about my Lord O’Toole’s being no better than a cat’s paw, or something that way, which made his lordship quite mad; and he said, in the presence of Captain Andrews, and my Lady Kildangan, and Lady Geraldine, and all that were in it, something that vexed Lady Geraldine, which made Mr. Cecil Devereux mad next; and he said something smart in reply, that Lord O’Toole could not digest, he said, which made his lordship madder than ever, and he discharged Mr. Devereux from his favour, and he is not to get that place that was vacant, the lord-lieutenancy of some place in the Indies that he was to have had; this made Lady Geraldine mad, and it was found out she was in love with Mr. Devereux, which made her mother mad, the maddest of all, they say, so that none can hold her, and she is crying night and day how her daughter might have had the first coronet in the kingdom, _maning_ you, my lard, if it had not been that she _prefarred_ a beggar-man, _maning_ Mr. Cecil Devereux, who is as poor, they say, as a Connaughtman--and he’s forbid to think of her, and she’s forbid, under pain of bread and water, ever to set her eyes upon him the longest day ever she lives; so the horses and coaches are ordered, and they are all to be off with the first light for Dublin: and that’s all, my lard; and all truth, not a word of lies I’m telling.”