“In comes the bailiff--‘Good morrow to you, sir,’ says I, leading out of the stable my lord’s horse, with an _ould_ saddle and bridle on. “‘Tim Neal,’ says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone’s heels, ‘mind your hits to-day, and _wee’l_ wet the plate to-night.” “‘Not so fast, neither,’ says the bailiff--‘here’s my writ for seizing the horse.’ “‘Och,’ says I, ‘you wouldn’t be so cruel.’ “‘That’s all my eye,’ says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately.” “Ha! ha! ha!--That _was_ neat, I grant you, Terry,” said Lord Clonbrony. “But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriff’s fellow have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!” “But stay, my lord--stay, Miss Nugent--I have more for you,” following her wherever she moved--“I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I left him on their hands for 500 guineas--ha! ha! ha!--was not that famous?” “But,” said Miss Nugent, “I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir Terence--Surely this would be--” “What?--out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.” “I am afraid of offending you.” “You can’t, my dear, I defy you--say the word that came to the tongue’s end; it’s always the best.” “I was going to say, swindling,” said the young lady, colouring deeply. “Oh, you was going to say wrong, then! It’s not called swindling amongst gentlemen who know the world--it’s only jockeying--fine sport--and very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Any thing to help a friend out of a present pressing difficulty.” “And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of the future?” “The future! leave the future to posterity,” said Sir Terence; “I’m counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it’s time enough to think of it. I can’t bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy’s alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of battle.” “It must be a sad thing,” said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, “to be reduced to live by little expedients--daily expedients.” Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing. “But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord Colambre, my dear,” said Sir Terence, “there’s an easy way of settling your family affairs at once; and since you don’t like little daily expedients, Miss Nugent, there’s one great expedient, and an expedient for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction--and ours. I hinted it delicately to you before; but, between friends, delicacy is impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you’ve nothing to do but go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B----, that desires no better--” “Sir!” cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger. Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm. “Oh, my lord!”