“Gracious Heaven! that can’t be,” said the old woman, putting on her spectacles; “let me see,’--I remember the very spot.” “It’s taken away--it’s rubbed clean out!--Oh, wasn’t I fool?--But who could have thought he’d be the villain!” The young man seemed neither to see nor hear, but to be absorbed in thought. Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as death.--“He’ll go--he’s gone.” “She’s gone!” cried Lord Colambre, and the mother just caught her in her arms as she was falling. “The chaise is ready, plase your honour,” said Larry, coming into the room. “Death! what’s here?” “Air!--she’s coming to,” said the young man--“Take a drop of water, my own Grace.” “Young man, I promise you,” cried Lord Colambre, (speaking in the tone of a master,) striking the young man’s shoulder, who was kneeling at Grace’s feet, but recollecting and restraining himself, he added, in a quiet voice--“I promise you I shall never forget the hospitality I have received in this house, and I am sorry to be obliged to leave you in distress.” These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out of the house, and into his carriage. “Go back to them,” said he to the postilion: “go back and ask whether, if I should stay a day or two longer in this country, they would let me return at night and lodge with them. And here, man, stay, take this,” putting money into his hands, “for the good woman of the house.” The postilion went in, and returned. “She won’t at all--I knew she would not.” “Well, I am obliged to her for the night’s lodging she did give me; I have no right to expect more.” “What is it?--Sure she bid me tell you,--‘and welcome to the lodging; for,’ said she, ‘he’s a kind-hearted gentleman;’ but here’s the money; it’s that I was telling you she would not have at all.” “Thank you. Now, my good friend, Larry, drive me to Clonbrony, and do not say another word, for I’m not in a talking humour.” Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. Clonbrony was now a melancholy scene. The houses, which had been built in a better style of architecture than usual, were in a ruinous condition; the dashing was off the walls, no glass in the windows, and many of the roofs without slates. For the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some measure accounted, by considering that it was holiday; therefore, of course, all the shops were shut up, and all the people at prayers. He alighted at the inn, which completely answered Larry’s representation of it. Nobody to be seen but a drunken waiter, who, as well as he could articulate, informed Lord Colambre, that “his mistress was in her bed since Thursday-was-a-week; the hostler at the _wash-woman’s_, and the cook at second prayers.”