“Good-bye to you, Sir Terence O’Fay,” said Lord Clonbrony; “and, since it’s so ordered, I must live without you.” “Oh! you’ll live better without me, my lord; I am not a good liver, I know, nor the best of all companions, for a nobleman, young or old; and now you’ll be rich, and not put to your shifts and your wits, what would I have to do for you?--Sir Terence O’Fay, you know, was only _the poor nobleman’s friend_, and you’ll never want to call upon him again, thanks to your jewel, your Pitt’s-diamond of a son there. So we part here, and depend upon it you’re better without me--that’s all my comfort, or my heart would break. The carriage is waiting this long time, and this young lover’s aching to be off. God bless you both!--that’s my last word.” They called in Red Lion-square, punctual to the moment, on old Mr. Reynolds, but his window-shutters were shut; he had been seized in the night with a violent fit of the gout, which, as he said, held him fast by the leg. “But here,” said he, giving Lord Colambre a letter, “here’s what will do your business without me. Take this written acknowledgment I have penned for you, and give my grand-daughter her father’s letter to read--it would touch a heart of stone--touched mine--wish I could drag the mother back out of her grave, to do her justice--all one now. You see, at last, I’m not a suspicious rascal, however, for I don’t suspect you of palming a false grand-daughter upon me.” “Will you,” said Lord Colambre, “give your grand-daughter leave to come up to town to you, sir! You would satisfy yourself, at least, as to what resemblance she may bear to her father: Miss Reynolds will come instantly, and she will nurse you.” “No, no; I won’t have her come. If she comes, I won’t see her--sha’n’t begin by nursing me--not selfish. As soon as I get rid of this gout, I shall be my own man, and young again, and I’ll soon be after you across the sea, that sha’n’t stop me: I’ll come to--what’s the name of your place in Ireland?--and see what likeness I can find to her poor father in this grand-daughter of mine, that you puffed so finely yesterday. And let me see whether she will wheedle me as finely as Mrs. Petito would. Don’t get ready your marriage settlements, do you hear? till you have seen my will, which I shall sign at--what’s the name of your place? Write it down there; there’s pen and ink; and leave me, for the twinge is coming, and I shall roar.” “Will you permit me, sir, to leave my own servant with you to take care of you? I can answer for his attention and fidelity.” “Let me see his face, and I’ll tell you.” Lord Colambre’s servant was summoned. “Yes, I like his face. God bless you!--Leave me.”